


Misplaced Attachments

by jaythewriter



Series: Misplaced Attachments [1]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: 'Fix It' Fic, Except it's not really fixing if everyone is still miserable, M/M, Multi, Post-MH, Potentially an AU, everyone is at everyone's necks and very annoyed, trigger warnings before every chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 50,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you cut the noose of a hanging man, set him free, and force him to live with his victim and the victim’s protector?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for blood, bruises, and what could be viewed as domestic violence.

It’s hard at first. There’s no way of denying that.

Blood is shed and bruises blossom across sun-starved skin every other night. Blades that ought to be used for food are used against flesh and glass crashes in a kitchen that doesn’t even belong to them. Words that can never be taken back stand out boldly at the backs of their minds as they fall asleep in dead and stony silence. 

(but)

But even people as broken as they are can manage it.

(they made it through something brought on by an inhuman and invulnerable force)

(they can do anything, fuck you very much)

—

Jay and Tim arrive there first, slipped away from the creature where it lay screaming for flesh (how had they gotten away how were they alive so many questions even they don’t know the answers to). They keep running and running and running, cars nearly out of gas by the time they reach the edge of town where the night is quiet but the day is even quieter.

They find solace in an empty home that has no owner to its name. For a night or so, anyway.

Then—

“Please, please let me in, I don’t have any money.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“But, Tim—”

Alex slips his way into their makeshift home soon after, begging not for forgiveness but for shelter. They still have no idea how he found them. For all they know, Alex could have been following them since they first fled the college, aimlessly chasing after their familiar faces.

Tim isn’t exactly thrilled; Jay must see something in his scarred up face that Tim doesn’t, though, because he says it’s okay.

Tim can’t tell if Jay is stupid, overly forgiving, or if he’s too good to turn someone away when they’re in need. Sure, they all know by then that it’s impossible for Alex to shoot Jay down again, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of making their lives hell.

Which he does.

The first fight seems to go on for hours. Jay tries to ask if either of them want him to go out and get some fast food. Neither of them wants him going off on his own out of some misplaced sense of protectiveness. And of course, neither of them wants the other to be the one to escort Jay.

“You tried to fucking kill him. What makes you think I trust you alone with him?”

“/I/ didn’t do shit! That thing made me do it! You weren’t there to stop me, what’s that say about you, you incompetent—”

“Oh that’s fucking /rich/, coming from—”

Everything past that is drowned out by the thuds of their bodies hitting the floor and bone meeting bone.

Jay runs out and doesn’t come back until the next morning, clutching three separate bags of McDonald’s with white knuckled hands. Tim remembers seeing him walk into the living room, his view skewed because, well, he’s lying on the floor clutching his head with Alex passed out across from him. But it isn’t exactly the worst wakeup call, seeing as Jay has the decency to leave the individual bags right beside their prone forms.

From that point on, every night begins to blur into the next, too similar in violence and anger for them to stand out against one another.

Someone says something the other doesn’t like. Jay flinches, and flees. He tip toes around the wreckage the next morning, like he’s hoping if he’s gentle enough, he won’t set off any land mines.

He’s never very successful.

—

There’s no way of telling who initiates the healing.

Probably Jay. He’s not one for words, nor is he exactly the most aggressive out of the three of them. Quite the opposite, actually.

(Tim remembers finding him in bed with tears streaking his face and Alex recalls finding his camera, but it was switched off for the first time since they met up that night in Benedict Hall. Like he didn’t want their less-than-human behavior captured on tape.)

It’s funny; he was willing to record his own ‘death’, but not this. It’s like now that he knows they’re unable to kill each other and have nobody else left in the world, he can’t bear to keep on capturing the pain on the little black rectangles for future reference. Too much to carry for a lifetime that he can’t jump ship out of.

But— that’s just it. That’s where it all starts to turn into one jagged and ugly scar instead of a sore that the three of them insisted upon reopening at every given opportunity.

He reminds them that they’ve only got each other.

“What the hell’s the point of kicking each other’s teeth out anyway?!”

It’s the first time Alex ever heard him yell like that. Tim, yes, when he took away the camera, but it wasn’t even this desperate because this was actually Jay talking. He stands at the top of the dusty stairs, resembling a broken child stumbling upon his parents fighting in the middle of the night.

“Would you stay out of this?” Alex tells him tiredly, and Tim hates him so much in that moment because he has /balls/ telling Jay what to do after trying to shoot Jay down in cold blood. It’s hard to keep his fists at bay; he holds himself back, but not for Alex’s sake.

“How can I stay out of it when I’m part of it?” Jay huffs, stamping down the steps. He goes to stand between Tim and Alex, a pathetic sight indeed. None of them came out of The Operator’s grip unscathed, but he couldn’t look any smaller standing next to the pair of them. “I’m as pissed off as either of you are for all sorts of reasons but I’m not taking it out on your faces, am I?”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re not stupid enough to go looking for a fight you can’t win,” Alex says, clenching his fists. Tim opens his mouth, hot anger bubbling in his throat at the potential threat in the other man’s voice, but his words falter when Alex continues to speak. “Unlike Tim.”

“You sure you wanna say that when I’m right here?” Tim snaps, jerking forward. If Jay wasn’t standing between them, he likely would have pushed Alex to the floor right then. It takes one word from him, one word, and everything breaks. Hearing his voice is bad enough, because all he can associate it with is danger.

It takes all of Jay’s strength not to shrink away from Alex. There’s a rubber quality to the air between the three of them, one that’s being stretched to its limit, and he can practically feel it getting close to its end.

“Come on, guys, you know we’re stuck here together and we—”

“I’ll say whatever I want,” Alex interrupts loudly; Jay might as well have been silent. “I might as well, when you two’ve been making me out to be the bad guy and I never got to say anything for myself.”

“Yeah, and you proved us right the minute you went and tried to kill both of us!” Tim says, voice cracking with something that sounds hideously like hysteria.

A jarring cry tears from his throat when Alex shoves Jay aside to leap at him. Bodies crash to the floor and Alex screams at him, positively /screams/— “It wasn’t me, you asshole, it wasn’t fucking /me/!”— and teeth find skin and nails find faces. Tim’s knee cracks against Alex’s ribcage, and Alex’s fist aches as it comes away from Tim’s cheek.

They could have gone on for hours.

But Jay’s voice is what breaks them apart.

He doesn’t have to say anything. The only sound that leaves his lips is a pained groan, and they both whip their heads around to see he’s at the bottom of the stair case, cradling his head. They can’t tell if he’s bleeding.

But he doesn’t give them the chance to figure it out. The man gives both of his old friends a glance, tired and indignant, then dashes away up the steps, using all four limbs for balance.

Something about the sight of Jay battered up like that from hitting the steps breaks Tim and Alex apart. They breathe heavily and don’t look at each other as they move in separate directions, rubbing at their individual injuries.

“I’m not saying I’m done with you,” Tim says between heavy breaths. “But I am saying maybe we should listen to what Jay might have to say about this.”

Alex scoffs, but he doesn’t brush Tim’s suggestion off either. He turns away from him and stomps to the kitchen, shoulders stiff and eyes to the floor.

“Just stay out of my way.”

Tim has to keep from laughing aloud at that.

He can do that, quite gladly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of bruises, blood, alcohol and a butt-ton of self-loathing.

Alex tries to go to bed, sick of sitting alone in the kitchen with whiskey heavy on his breath.

He’s halfway down the upstairs hall when an arm darts out from the bathroom and drags him inside, pinning him to the sink. His first instincts are to fight, and his hands come up to fist at the stranger’s shirt, but it turns out to only be Jay.

“You should know better than to do that,” he grouses, exasperation written boldly across his glare. Jay, surprisingly, doesn’t shrink away. Instead, he begins to roll up the taller one’s sleeves. He stops at every dark splotch of skin and each skid of red.

“I wanted to get to you first,” Jay says before releasing Alex’s arms. He points at the cracked tub. Raising an eyebrow, Alex obliges his wordless request and perches on the tub’s edge. There’s a cardboard box he hadn’t seen upon coming in on the floor; Jay rummages through it, withdrawing a half empty bottle of rubbing alcohol and bandages.

“We kept this in the back of Tim’s car,” he explains before getting on his knees. It hardly looks comfortable there on the floor, but Alex doesn’t have the energy to tell him to fuck off.

(Besides, something tight and hot in his chest doesn’t want Jay to go away. It wants him to be the one to tend to the wounds.)

“I knew you wouldn’t be looking after yourself,” Jay goes on, taking hold of Alex’s arm and gently angling it so that the torn skin doesn’t stretch. He uncaps the bottle of alcohol, and pours it on, receiving no response whatsoever. Little stings like this are nothing compared to the headaches that kept Alex awake for nights on end back on the road.

“What’s the big deal? Not like I’ll die from infection or something,” Alex points out. He only holds out his arm for Jay, doesn’t do anything to help whatsoever.

Jay doesn’t appear to mind. If anything, he might prefer this, so Alex doesn’t get in the way of his careful patting and wrapping. He tapes the bandaging up to keep it from unraveling from Alex’s arm, where he has it extending all the way from his wrist to his elbow.

“The big deal is you’ll be uncomfortable and in pain, and you’ll just be all the more irritable,” Jay replies casually, wagging his fingers towards Alex’s second arm. The man obediently extends the limb for him to fuss over. “And let’s face it. We don’t need you acting any more pissy.”

“/Well/ then,” the sitting man jokingly huffs in the fashion of a snooty well-to-do lady.

Jay doesn’t look at Alex, though he can see the odd smile pulling at his lips. It’s slightly infectious; or Alex is the type to laugh at his own jokes, no matter how unfunny they are. He isn’t sure anymore. Did he laugh at them back when he was allowed to be himself?

“I’m just worried about you is all,” Jay says quietly, capping the bottle of alcohol after checking to be sure there’s more for later. Something tells Alex Tim will be getting the rest. He has to keep from growling aloud at the thought. “If we’re going to be living together like this, we might as well try to keep each other comfortable for the sake of keeping ourselves comfortable. In other words, try not to piss each other off unnecessarily.”

Alex snorts. He doesn’t realize that he did it out loud til he sees that Jay is glaring at him.

“I don’t even remember what being comfortable entails, Jay,” he says with an apologetic shrug, flinching when the man slaps at his elbow for moving and disturbing his work. “How do you expect me to keep you comfortable, or, fuck, like I know how to even talk to Tim without wringing his throat.”

Jay’s smile returns, and this time he doesn’t hide it. He stands up, looking down at Alex with such softness that it’s a bit startling. He has no idea what to make of it. The tightness inside of him seems to like it, though.

“You knew I wouldn’t like confronting you both earlier and told me to leave. That’s a start.”

Alex blinks.

Nobody likes confrontation. Yes, not even him. He doesn’t go seeking fights; he doesn’t have the energy for it. On top of that, he knew from experience that if Jay got involved earlier, things would’ve gotten way messier— which they did. It wasn’t because he was worried for Jay. It didn’t even occur to him until now that maybe he should have been.

He feels absolutely pathetic. Jay is trying to see the best in him and all he’s going to find is a bunch of grime and muck if he goes searching any deeper. That next moment, shame (and that heat in his chest, whatever the hell it is) pushes Alex to do what it is that he does best: lie.

“I guess you’re right. I mean. You’re the kind of guy who prefers to talk it out.”

(Hence why he didn’t run every time Alex shoved at him. Every time he shouted, swore, blamed him.)

(Why he tried to call his name instead of run the moment he saw the gun.)

(He has too much faith.)

“For now I think you should head to bed.”

Alex feels hands on his shoulders, and he realizes that he was gazing off into the distance, dazed. He looks down at Jay, almost wishing that he was sitting again so that he could see him as the taller one. From that angle, he seems somehow stronger.

There’s a faint pattering out in the hallway that catches both of their attention, prompting them to whip around and stare through the crack between the door and entryway.

“…I don’t think Tim gets why you’re even putting up with me,” Alex says casually as he can, trying not to give away the question that’s been on his mind ever since Jay let him into the house.

(why, why do you care, you shouldn’t care, you have every right to hate me, stop being a good person stop giving so many chances stop making it hard to hate you)

“Hm. Well, that’s something we’ll have to talk about then, won’t we?” Jay says, more loudly than necessary. The floorboards outside the room creak again and a door down the hall clicks shut.

(Alex tries not to sink in disappointment. He could just /ask/ him, like a normal person, but that means it’ll be a Thing, and they’ll have to talk about why he even cares about Jay caring and it’s a huge mess of misplaced attachment and he doesn’t have the energy or heart for it.)

(Something tells him Jay has no idea how he’s able to stand being near him after all he’s done anyway. All this talk of comfort; he would think Jay’s comfort is the most at risk here.)

“Get to bed already.”

The taller man mumbles under his breath, ‘m’getting there’, and shuffles out into the hall, concealing everything inside that’s tearing at the seams holding him together.

Jay doesn’t seem to notice a thing. As usual.

Fucking idiot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for implied domestic violence.

By the time the sun rises, Alex isn’t in the house anymore. Tim doesn’t go looking for him, but there are only so many rooms in the house for him to hide in, should he choose to.

Jay hasn’t wandered off, though, and thank God he hasn’t. If Tim had woken to an empty house, he would’ve assumed the worst.

(He can’t help it. Seeing Jay last night with Alex, treating him gently, it scared him. It’s too easy for his rattled and scarred brain to put together a scenario where they’ll run off together, suddenly carefree and all too eager to leave the one with a thousand negative marks on his hospital records behind.)

(Logic can’t do shit to help him when paranoia comes rushing in like that. It doesn’t matter how many times he reminds himself that Jay isn’t stupid enough to go be alone with his would-be killer.)

“Hey,” Tim says from Jay’s doorway, rather, the doorway of the room Jay has claimed as his own. It likely once belonged to a young woman, if the broken perfume bottles on the dresser and the leftover containers of makeup are anything to go by.

The pair of them did wonder what happened to the original owners of the house, but they let the topic drop quickly when they realized they shouldn’t question a Good Thing happening to them. Free shelter with a murky history and suspicious red stains in the basement? Sure, set them up.

Rolling onto his side on the dusty bare mattress, Jay looks up at Tim with eyes that are doubly bruised from sleeplessness. He must have tried to rest at some point, Tim saw him go to his room earlier in the night, but he supposes he wasn’t very successful in the long run.

“Hey,” the exhausted man parrots back, biting back a yawn. He sits up slowly, resting on his arms and sneezing as a puff of dust is sent into the air by his movement.

“Thought I should check in on you,” Tim says carefully, watching Jay climb off the mattress and wishing he’d get back on. After that bump to the head, he ought to be lying down. It occurs to him that he never asked how he was feeling. “Uh— how’s your head?”

“It’s fine,” Jay replies, a bit too brusquely for Tim’s liking. He wants to remind him it’s Alex’s fault he got hurt at all; if Alex hadn’t been acting like such a little shit… but then again, if Tim had held himself back, Jay wouldn’t have fallen at all.

“That’s good,” Tim tries weakly, feet shuffling. God, he wants a cigarette. He hasn’t had one since they arrived here and he’s starting to think he’s never going to smoke again. Not with their current budget of fifty six cents, anyway. If he could smoke, maybe he wouldn’t be irritable and fighting with Alex as much, and maybe Jay wouldn’t have hit his head, and—

“So are you going to tell me why you came in here or not?”

Tim takes himself off of autopilot and looks up, seeing that Jay is getting changed. The loosest definition of changed, anyway; they only have so many outfits left between them, and Tim is pretty sure that’s his shirt that Jay’s putting on, too big in the arms and torso.

(he’s helped Jay get changed before what the hell why can’t he look him in the eye is it because he’s pissed with him today or something)

“I wanted to know if, well, you knew that Alex was out.”

“Oh, yeah, I do,” Jay confirms with a nod, straightening out the shirt and looking over to Tim with raised eyebrows. “Said he had to go out and get some supplies or whatever.”

Tim is ready to call bullshit on that one. So much for ‘let me in, please, I don’t have any money’. But he doesn’t say anything, not when it’s beneficial for him, considering he’s wanted Alex to get the fuck out of here for the past two weeks.

“Why? Were you looking for him?”

Jay’s gaze turns suspicious. Tim has to keep from laughing at him.

“Why would I go /looking/ for Alex?”

“I-I dunno!” Jay snaps back. His arms cross upon his chest, making him look like a huffy toddler. “You’re hardly someone I’d expect to be concerned about Alex’s whereabouts unless you were hoping to beat him up or something.”

“I’m not that violent a person,” Tim mumbles to the floor. He hates Alex, but if he could, he’d avoid fighting him at every other opportunity. Seeing him walk around like he’s innocent, though, and hearing his voice, it just— it upsets whatever little bit of patience Tim has left and he loses control.

“It’s not like I’m behaving unreasonably here, Jay,” Tim continues in the chilly silence Jay left between them. The man’s arms stay crossed, but he must hear the accusation in his voice, with how his balance falters on the spot. “You’re acting like he hasn’t done anything wrong at all. Like, like the last couple of years have never happened or something.”

The anxiety in Jay’s shaking form instantly dissolves into something less, like exasperation. His shoulders sag, following his long sigh.

“I already pretty much explained myself when I said that I don’t see the point in us kicking each other’s teeth out,” he says, crossing the room to stand before Tim. There’s a bite to his voice, but he doesn’t let himself speak any more sharply than that. “I just don’t see the threat anymore if he can’t do anything to me.”

A furious shift in Tim prompts him to reach out and grab Jay’s wrists, too tight, too fast for Jay. He flinches away, but he can’t break out of his grip.

“And? Did you forget he’s still /Alex/, he still hurt you!”

(how can you forget)

(I can’t forget)

“I remember! You think I can’t remember a—”

(a bullet to the stomach?)

(my own blood all over my hands?)

(his feet kicking at the door to finish me off?)

(how quickly he pulled the trigger?)

“I remember,” Jay says in a long breath, pushing away from Tim and wheeling around him, so he’s out in the hall and out of his reach. “But, Tim, even you must’ve noticed he’s not acting like he used to.”

Tim bottles up the scoff that tries to break past his lips. In his opinion, the Alex that shows up in Jay’s little videos would gladly try to punch his face in every chance he got.

“Just because he wasn’t pointing a knife in your face when we opened the door to him doesn’t mean he’s changed.”

“He’s different, Tim. Even in how he’s fighting with you,” Jay explains, and Tim can’t help noticing he’s shuffling backwards, further and further and if he’s afraid of /him/ then Tim thinks he really has lost his mind.

(But he knows Jay’s right. Every punch and kick, it’s not to hurt Tim but to drive him off.)

(His screams, they don’t ring of threats, but of defense— ‘It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it, I didn’t mean it, leave me alone’.)

(They want to be left alone by one another but bitterness keeps pulling them back together.)

(And it’s doing nothing. It’s pointless. Like Jay says.)

“I just don’t want to trust him,” Tim admits, running his hand through his bed-mussed hair. “It feels wrong to trust him. Like, it’s bad enough all of what’s happened precedes him, now he’s suddenly acting like he’s normal again and if it turns out to be a trick…”

His head is beginning to ache from stress. He rubs at his forehead and looks back at Jay again— he needs to be more aware of this new staring at the floor habit of his.

“I guess I want to be prepared.”

Jay doesn’t reply right away. He returns Tim’s gaze with something that looks like understanding, though. His hand comes up, and it hovers close to Tim’s elbow. It hesitates, and eventually gives up, dropping back to Jay’s side.

“I’m not asking you to trust him,” Jay says calmly. “I’m asking you to maybe try…”

He pauses, seemingly searching for the right words.

“Just, try to stop beating him up every other night, please?” he asks with a feeble half smile. “For me. It’d really make getting through things less stressful.”

If it were anyone but Jay, someone he thought he’d never have again, Tim would snap back for telling him what to do. But because it’s Jay, and because he’s asking, he ends up nodding. He can see the grateful grin forming upon his lips. That’s when he knows he’s doing the right thing.

Or, he’s going to try, anyway.

Jay brushes past him, saying he’ll be down in the living room trying to tidy things up so the house is more livable. Tim thinks he says something after him, but nothing too special. His brain is completely elsewhere.

Has Jay ever smiled at him like that before?

(No, he hasn’t, and it rubs him the wrong way knowing that the smile was brought on by a situation involving Alex in a big way.)

(But he smiled.)

It’s more than Tim could’ve ever expected. He was happy enough to have Jay back.

But to have him back, and know that he’s okay enough to smile— it’s enough to chase off the craving for a cigarette, and Tim thinks he can tolerate living one more day without one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood, mention of possible suicide attempt, descriptions of cutting, and the act of stitching an individual’s wound back up.

_Blood runs fast from his mouth. He gags on it, and clings to you like you’re all he has left. As far as you’re concerned, you are, and if you don’t move any faster, you will fail him._

_(again)_

_“C’mon, we can’t stop here,” you beg of him, and his nails dig into your shoulder, deep and biting. He whimpers, staggering on his feet. Something gets past his lips, but you have no idea what he could possibly be saying. He sounds upset— reasonably so, with his current state, but you can’t do anything for him until you get inside the house._

_It’s the first house you two have seen for miles. He couldn’t drive; his car is still back at the school, abandoned and emptied of everything you deemed useful for a potential life on the run. Maybe you’ll go back for it, but you’re not so sure. You can’t see that far into the future right now. As far as you’re concerned, the future doesn’t exist. It’s /right now/, with his blood staining your hands, your clothes, the very ground you walk upon._

_“We’re almost in the house,” you say encouragingly. Driving for four hours straight is never healthy. Your legs tremble when you make that last step towards the door, and they shake hard when he slumps against you with all his weight. A brief shock passes through you, thinking that maybe he has given in and passed out. But he’s talking to you, breathing heavy, stickily._

_“Tim,” he mutters at you, pawing at you. “No one’s home, no car, just, open, open the door.”_

_He’s right. There isn’t a car in the driveway, and none of the lights are on. You don’t know if that’s for the best; you’d just stopped the car here thinking it would be worth a shot to knock and see if the people inside would help you._

_But he’s suggesting you actually break in. If he bleeds out everywhere, whoever lives here is going to find the blood, and the police will be able to figure out who he is and— it doesn’t matter, none of it matters when he’s very near tears and begging you to open the door already._

_There’s no lock. You open the door easily, shouldering your way in and slipping into the living room. Dust flies up with every step you take; it’s too dark to see but you can taste it coating your tongue. You cough and immediately regret it. He begins to panic, whimpering and pleading to the air, please, please, don’t let it be here._

_“It’s not here anymore, it’s stuck at the school, Jay,” you reassure him, terrified that he’ll bleed out if his heart goes any faster._

_(But he’s had so much time to bleed out, how is he—)_

_You can’t question it. Not now._

_You manage to get him to lay on a couch covered in plastic. You don’t want to leave his side but the first aid kit is back in the car. You have to, and you tell him so, gently reminding him over and over that you will be back, you promise, but he’s still letting out these little sobs as you run from the room as quickly as you can._

_The keys fumble between your fingers, never quite hitting the car trunk’s lock. They hit the ground at one point and you actually let out a strangled cry. Once the trunk is open, it suddenly seems as though all the coats and blankets and stray pieces of clothing have gathered together to make sure that the kit is completely hidden. It takes way too long to find it, but at least you find it at all._

_He’s shaking and pale when you make it back into the house, cautiously locking the door behind you. Again, you have this vision that he’s going to bleed away the last of his life right in front of you, but he’s had so much time to do just that._

_(how, how, /how/)_

_“Jay, lay back.”_

_You don’t know if it’s because he trusts you or if he can’t afford to fight it anymore. But he obeys you, and his shirt slides up with him. Not enough to give you access to the wound, but enough for you to see the edges of it, where the skin is torn and stretched from movement. You move slowly, inching the sodden fabric up until it’s bunched beneath his neck, smearing new blood there. His heart is pulling the drive to keep going from thin air, it seems; it should’ve /stopped/ but, no, you can’t think about it now, not /now/, for fuck’s sake, save him._

_At first, you take to cleaning his wound, wiping it off with the spare shirt you grabbed out of the trunk. But the blood just keeps coming. You give up, deciding it’s better to try and close the damn thing._

_(There’s no bullet when you go looking for one. What the fuck happened to it; did he somehow cough it back out?)_

_You’re babbling out apologies at a hundred miles per hour but you try to reassure him that it’s going to be okay, you’ve done this before, done it for yourself—_

_“Done it for… you?”_

_You give pause. You were hoping he wouldn’t ask._

_But maybe he won’t concentrate as much on the pain if you talk to him. So you do, before you insert the needle._

_“I started to cut myself when I was ten years old.”_

_He looks at the stitch you’re sewing into his flesh. He twitches under your touch. You tap at him, try to keep his attention. He seems to realize what you’re trying to do, so he looks back to you with utterly rapt attention, eyes wide and jaw set._

_“I didn’t know it was a, uhm, bad thing, really. Until the doctors at the hospital caught me and put me under lockdown when I was like, twelve, maybe thirteen. I didn’t do it constantly. Just enough that it started to become noticeable.”_

_His red eyes are going glossy again. You force yourself to keep looking at him, glancing between what you’re doing and him. Blood is all over your fingertips and he’s quivering under you. He’s trying so hard._

_“When I got out and I was left at home alone, I obviously wasn’t doing better. Considering, y’know, I was still doing it, and I was still talking about tall men chasing after me. So one night, I did it a bit too deep.”_

_In. Out. Skin drawing shut._

_“I don’t remember if it was on purpose. But I was too scared to die at that point. So I googled how to fix shit like that and I fixed it up myself before anyone could get home. Really, really sloppily, and with a lot of screaming, but. I did it.”_

_You want to tell him he’s doing good. But you have a feeling he won’t like it. He lays his head back, breathing evenly as you gently begin to press gauze to the stitched wound. For a moment, you think you’ve lost him to sleep. Now that the worst is over, you’re willing to let him rest. He’s been awake for far too long, writhing and screaming._

_“I… I wish I’d been there, like you are right now for me.”_

_He proves that he’s still with you when you’re taping down the gauze and he speaks up. His eyes aren’t open, but his pale lips are moving._

_You look at him for a long moment, unsure what to think._

_Would he have really helped, being there for you at that tender age of sixteen, tearing at your hair in the middle of the night and cursing out invisible forces? Nothing your mom or the doctor did helped, nothing. No amount of holding, touching, soothing words, or medications ever truly worked._

_In the end, you know it’s the thought that counts. Especially when he has so many reasons to never put his trust in you again._

_(you failure.)_

_You sigh, and slump down beside the couch. Your hands are sticky and sore from the blood, and you’re still shaking from the adrenaline rush. If anyone needs sleep, you do. How long has it been since you slept?_

_His hand is in your hair. A part of you is grossed out, because, great, more blood to shower off. But you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re too relieved._

_“Tim.”_

_His voice is croaky and painfully pathetic. But you don’t bring attention to it._

_“Hm?”_

_“…I don’t know for sure,” he whispers, coughing a moment before he continues. “I don’t think I can die, though.”_

_For some reason, you don’t deny this. You can’t die. You’ve tried so hard to, too, and something should’ve worked by now, but nothing has. How Jay has managed to earn that gift (curse) himself, you’ve no idea. But it makes sense. So you nod, you nod and say you think he’s right._

_His answer is nothing more than a soft snore._

—

“Get up.”

Tim bolts upright, gasping loudly and gagging when dust tickles its way down his throat. He doesn’t remember coming into the kitchen, but he must have at some point. He remembers carrying several boxes into the basement with Jay. Then, he went to go get water, put his head down at the counter… and that’s it.

Sounds about right. Regardless, he wasn’t expecting to be woken by Alex.

“What do you want?” Tim tries with as neutral a voice he can muster, recalling Jay’s request from earlier. The haughty glare Alex has fixed upon him from across the kitchen counter isn’t doing much to help keep his anger down, but he doesn’t rise to the potential bait. He’s got to /try/, for Jay’s sake.

“I don’t want anything. I just needed to give you this.”

With that, he reaches into his hoodie pocket and— is that— it is. A box of cigarettes slides across the counter to Tim, shiny and unopened. He stares, disbelieving and sure it’s a prank, but Alex is more the type to end his pranks with somebody covered in bruises.

“…where did you get them?” he asks when he finds he can’t think of anything else to say. He tests it, putting his fingers on the edge of the box. When Alex just keeps glaring at him, he pulls them closer and pries them open. No rattlesnakes, no jumping jack-in-the-box, nothing but actual cigarettes.

“You could say thank you. It’s not like it’s a trap,” Alex sighs, dropping his crossed arms.

“Fine, thanks,” Tim says sharply, though he thinks Alex is being stupid if he actually believes Tim has no reason to be suspicious. “But you’ve said you don’t have any money. Where did you get these?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex insists before going to sit on the other side of the counter. He leans back in the chair, its legs creaking loudly in protest. “We’ve got something more important to talk about anyway, and it’s in the living room right now.”

Tim gives pause. He listens, head inclining in the direction of the indicated room. A soft hum emits from the room, and immediately he realizes that it’s Jay’s voice. Tim turns his gaze back to Alex, already knowing what this must be about.

“So you actually want to try…?” Tim trails off, unsure how to word what it is that Jay’s asked of them.

“Those are my peace offering,” Alex says, nodding towards the cigarettes. He exhales heavily through his nose, eyes closing as though it’s taking all his energy not to curse Tim out. “I’m not saying I’m doing this for Jay. But this fighting thing is getting to be a problem.”

Tim eyes the blackened skin around Alex’s throat.

“Yeah. Clearly.”

“So, are you going to call this a mutual truce or should I take my cigarettes back?”

There’s a brief moment of quiet between the two of them. Tim can feel Alex eyeing him up, making sure there’s sincerity in his face. To be honest, Tim is doing the same with him. He might hate getting beat up every night, but it’s still odd that he’d do this only after Jay spoke to him last night. It’s laughable, the thought that he might actually value Jay’s opinion.

What’s Tim got to lose? A couple black eyes, maybe, but if Alex breaks the truce, he could use it as a means to convince Jay he doesn’t belong here. So it’s a win-win.

He sticks out his arm, pulling the world’s most strained smile in the process.

“Truce?”

Alex’s smile doesn’t look any more genuine than Tim’s. But there’s still clearly an effort there. He reaches out, and clasps his calloused hand around Tim’s warm palm.

“Truce.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for implied self harm.

Alex can’t remember the last time he had such a quiet day. There were long hours spent alone in desolate spaces with fallen bricks and shattered windows, his ears ringing from the sheer quiet surrounding him, but those hours were not his own. He might as well have been asleep.

He hasn’t spoken to Jay or Tim the entire day. He nodded once to Jay in greeting when they accidentally bumped into each other in the kitchen—

(and, shit, that in itself was an experience. For all of two seconds he was back in college and waking up with the crew of Marble Hornets laying all over his house, hungover and exhausted. Jay, in all his fuzzy-haired and wrinkled-shirt glory, couldn’t have looked better for the part.)

But besides the strangely nostalgic encounter during his attempts to scrounge up food, the day has been less than noteworthy. Alex doesn’t know if he prefers this; a quiet house means that he’s left alone to his thoughts, and surely the others are dealing with the same.

However, it also means that there aren’t any hands going for his throat or fists flying at his face. Tim’s in the house, but he’s doing such a good job at hiding that he might as well not be here at all. Or maybe Alex has been subconsciously avoiding running into him. He isn’t sure yet.

It’d be lonely if it wasn’t so relieving to go a day without raising his voice. Relief, dread, calm— what a puzzling mixture for Alex.

He finds himself in the living room around sundown, running his fingers over scars that aren’t necessarily from outside forces. With his legs folded, he can trace the criss-crosses that decorate the outsides of his calves.

It gets dark fast these days, with winter in full swing. During any other winter, the chill would be tolerable. But this one is as chilly as it gets; the goosebumps upon Alex’s legs prove it’s far too cold to be wearing shorts. He doesn’t have any other alternatives though.

Good thing he doesn’t exactly care whether he gets frostbite.

“You aren’t going to bring a candle in here?”

Alex would’ve jumped, if he hadn’t heard Jay clanking around loudly in the kitchen before coming into the living room. He reclines back on the couch and sees him standing in the doorway, cupping his hand over, indeed, a candle.

“What’s the point? Not like I’m reading anything,” Alex shrugs, though he doesn’t protest when Jay goes to place the candle down on the newly dusted coffee table.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should be sitting in the dark,” Jay says before gesturing to the newly cleaned room. “You won’t be able to admire all the work I did in here.”

Jay and Tim did an admittedly good job in making the living room look inhabitable. The shattered glass from empty picture frames is gone, along with all of the half dead decorations that had littered the end tables. An unticking clock is left behind, along with a shelf that’s currently providing a home for Tim’s bags. The matching off-blue couch and chair no longer have plastic on them, which definitely lends to the normalcy of the room considering the blood that was on them is gone now.

Alex still doesn’t know where the blood came from. He’s asked and Jay refuses to tell him.

“It’s homey,” Alex says neutrally. He pointedly looks away when Jay smiles at him. Pretending not to notice as Jay drops onto the couch beside him, he turns his eyes to his own legs instead. The candle draws interesting shadows across his marked skin.

Jay’s bouncing next to him. Nothing overly energetic, but for him to have this much energy at all is off-putting. He’s beginning to question whether he has gone back in time to college; first the kitchen, now Jay’s acting /weird/.

Not that Alex wants him to be unhappy or anything. But.

“What is it with you?” he asks, turning his head and seeing that Jay’s watching the pair of windows across the room. Without the dirty curtains there, the sun has been painting the room a brilliant gold. Now streaks of pink are slowly sinking into the carpet, and Jay’s completely caught up in the sight, like he’s never seen such a thing before.

“Dunno what you mean,” he replies absently, picking at a tear in the knee of his jeans. Alex gently flicks his wrist, properly capturing his attention and frowning at him.

“You’re happy.”

Jay stares a moment.

“…and being happy is a crime, apparently.”

“No, Jay. You know what I mean.”

The blue eyed man chews at the inside of his cheek, searching Alex’s face. He must be looking for any implication of insult within his questioning. It would be exasperating if Alex didn’t remind himself that today’s the first day he’s gone without attempting to give Tim a black eye.

“If I tell you, you’ll probably think I’m either nuts or sappy,” Jay tells him after a moment of thought. Color creeps into his otherwise chalky cheeks, and he begins to pick at a hangnail, no longer able to distract himself with the sunset. Their sole source of light comes from the candle on the table.

“Well, I already think you’re not exactly the sanest person after what we’ve been through,” Alex says more casually than he’s truly comfortable with. His shoulders rock into a vague shrug when Jay looks at him again, finger still between his teeth. “That just leaves sappy. But if you don’t tell me, I’ll feel— what’s the word you used?— uncomfortable, knowing I’m going uninformed.”

Jay breathes hard out of his nose, a ‘you got me’ smirk spreading across his lips.

“Fine.”

He runs his hands through his hair, not entirely ready to talk. Alex watches him, patient. He silently wonders whether Jay knows how out of sorts he looks; his clothes need a wash, and he doesn’t exactly resemble a regular human being with the lack of showering.

Not totally his fault when this house doesn’t have any running water, though. It just sticks out more to Alex knowing that he must look like that as well, and what’s more, he’s had the look for far longer than Jay. How the hell was he able to tolerate it even when he wasn’t exactly himself?

“I’m happy because I’ve got my friends back.”

Jay speaks so suddenly it jolts Alex from his thoughts. He realizes his gaze had fallen to Jay’s dilapidated shoes, falling apart at the soles. Turning his eyes back to the other man, he notices he’s gazing at him with unexpected softness. It’s disconcerting.

(But his chest is hot and tight again. Fuck.)

“Like… yeah. I’m pissed at you. Unbelievably so,” Jay says seriously, his hands briefly flexing into fists. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before continuing to speak. “And I’m not on the best terms with Tim either. But it’s like I said; I don’t see any point in fighting when it’s just going to cause us more trouble. And I need more trouble like I need a nail to the face.”

“It’s what I’ve been fighting for though. Us— This! We’re all finally some amount of okay, and we’re together.”

His eyes close, and he flops back against the back of the couch, euphoric and grinning widely to himself. It’s such an unusual sight.

(Though Alex can’t say he dislikes it. Not really.)

“It’s just a huge relief, I guess,” the man says breathily, opening his eyes to the ceiling and the odd shadows being thrown upon it. “So. Yeah. That’s it. Go on and laugh if you want. I honestly won’t give a shit.”

Alex doesn’t say anything at all. He merely looks at Jay. Looks at the man he did call a friend once, someone who apparently cares about him even after all this time.

What an extraordinary creature. Running around filming everything from his car’s dashboard to his masked friend getting his leg broken. Posting somebody’s tapes online after being told to burn them. Letting two people tear at him for different reasons, both justified and unjustified, until he comes apart and then pulls himself back together.

Then, he goes and says that those same two people are his friends.

Alex doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Jay. He isn’t sure he wants to.

“Thanks.”

He can think of a hundred reasons why he’d thank Jay for still seeing him as his friend. But none of them truly motivate him to act grateful— it’s the heat inside of him that pushes the word ‘thanks’ from his lips. That same heat roars with delight when Jay gives him a startled but pleased smile in return.

“Uh, you’re welcome, I guess?” he tries, itching at the back of his neck. “I dunno what to say to that.”

“To be honest I dunno what to say to you either,” Alex replies, rolling his eyes and leaning back against the couch as well. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘relax’ anymore, but he thinks he’s getting there. Because, in spite of that, he does remember what people do around their friends: relax.

So he supposes in some odd way, some ‘I’m stuck with you but you know what, you’re not half bad’ way, he’s with a friend.

A friend he has to share with somebody he would prefer— not dead, but, not here either.

“Tim’s back.”

The slam of the front door announces Tim’s arrival far sooner than Jay’s words do. Alex has to withhold a sigh; so that’s where Tim’s been.

“What was he even doing?” Alex asks, failing to mask the annoyance in his voice. He doesn’t meet Jay’s eyes, refusing to see the switch from softness to irritability.

“Laundry. Got any quarters? We’re trying to clean this place up.”

Alex feels the couch cushions shift as Jay rises to his feet.

“It’d be nice if you joined in. I mean, you intend on living here after all.”

There’s a space of silence given where Alex could answer. He doesn’t, though. Not to be difficult— he knows that Tim has Jay’s attention and now he’s not going to get it back. Still, he’s aware enough to notice that Alex doesn’t reply to him, and soon he’s walking out of the room with heavy feet, leaving him on his own.

Frustration fills the empty space Jay leaves behind. Alex hates Tim right now. He’s the ‘good’ one, stronger than Alex and likely the strongest of the three of them. There’s room for recovery there, and he could take Jay along with him for the ride. They see a future, or at least, some semblance of it. They have to, or they wouldn’t be working on fixing up the house they’ve claimed as their own.

Alex doesn’t see any such thing for himself. Jay might consider him a friend, but he needs to stop thinking that Alex belongs in this fantasy of his. He’s lying about in far too many pieces, scattered all around the state of Alabama. Alex might be himself now, but ‘himself’ wasn’t able to hang on and continue existing in the way that Tim and Jay did even after encountering that monster.

It hurts, if he’s honest. But it’s his fault. Not theirs. He can be angry at Tim and annoyed with Jay all he likes and nothing will get done.

Leaning forward, he stares at the flickering flame upon the candle wick, the wax melting around it. There’s no use for it here, no matter what Jay thinks.

Alex breathes in, and extinguishes the candle in one short puff of air.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mild blood.

There are thousands of stories lying dormant within this empty house. Jay can feel them pulsing within the walls, aching to be heard. But he knows that the house’s stories will remain untold for perhaps the rest of time, if he and Tim don’t rustle up any old diaries or records around the house.

Thus far, they’ve only found picture frames and dusty photo albums. A happy couple lived here, young and with plans for the future in their pockets. The most recent batch of photos showed that one of them had a ring upon their finger.

Past that point, it’s a dead end. They know the couple’s names through the captions written under the photos, but Google provided them with nothing more than a Missing Persons report. Jay can only assume the worst, after hearing Tim talk about the blood in the basement.

He has yet to see said blood, despite being in the basement all day. Alex has been keeping to himself, preferring to stick to his claimed bedroom, and Tim’s been in and out of the house all with the laundry and a jingling pocket of quarters. As a result, Jay feels he has no choice but to move his clean-up regime to the downstairs as well.

There’s practically nothing to move out of there. He’s spent more time attempting to unblock a backroom door than he has cleaning. For whatever reason, a shelf full of old broken lamps and fans and the like was shoved in front of the door, and, well, Jay doesn’t like having secrets kept from him. He’s a nosey person, he’s willing to admit this after all the trouble said nosiness has put him through.

And yet, he continues to throw aside the odd objects standing on the shelf, convinced that the discovery of whatever’s inside will outweigh the potential cons of the situation.

The shelf is left bare after enough work, save for the thick coat of dust left behind. Jay can’t help laughing at himself when he hesitates to touch the dust; he must have breathed in something far worse than dust with all the time he’s spent in abandoned buildings.

Chasing off his unfounded disgust, he stands at the side of the shelf and shoves with all of his might— which isn’t very much in the first place. Despite his weakness, he manages to make it creak across the floor, inch by inch.

Soon, he’s got the door free. Mercifully enough, it’s unlocked. Jay had expected otherwise, with his luck never being the best. Turning the doorknob and savoring the way the door easily gives, he opens it just a crack and peers inside.

It’s dark, as expected. Too dark to see beyond the little bit of light given to him by a candle he brought with him to the basement. He hesitantly retreats back into the original room, recovering the candle off of the floor.

At first Jay sees nothing but the throw-rug that lays immediately in front of the doorway. It doesn’t seem to belong there, like it was haphazardly kicked into place. The room is considerably tiny and empty, with a single end-table shoved into the corner. A camera sits upon it, lying on its side.

Jay pauses.

He hasn’t touched a single camera since Tim brought him to this house. It’s odd; he hasn’t thought about it, but now that he looks at the camera, he doesn’t feel drawn to it. Not like he was drawn to the one Tim took from him, as though it were a fifth limb that kept him moving. Every camera he saw had that same irresistible feeling surrounding them, calling to him and dragging him in.

Now, though, he looks at this plain camcorder, the lens cracked and staring him in the face, and he can’t understand the pull that he’d once felt.

Stepping over the shaggy throw rug, Jay approaches the camera and picks it up carefully, aware of its age. He turns it over in his hands, realizing quickly that it’s lacking a battery.

His gut tells him to leave the camera be. After going through the last couple of years, he’s found that watching footage that he found simply lying around has never led to good things. He hesitates; his curiosity has gotten him this far and it almost seems a waste to leave the camera there after all the hard work put into digging it up. Still, he can see Tim’s face now, if he were to catch Jay with the camera.

Hell; he can easily imagine the camcorder lying in bits upon the floor.

He puts it down, and turns— and slides along the smooth floor. His tailbone hits the ground hard, ripping a delayed yelp from his lips, and everything is blindingly white for a moment as the pain and embarrassment registers. Jay clutches his sock feet, berating himself for leaving his shoes behind, though he’d thought he was doing the right thing in leaving them back in his room. They’re falling apart at the soles; they can’t take much more wear and tear.

Looking down, he sees that he slid upon the throw rug, sending it to the opposite corner of where it was. He tells himself to get up and pull it back into place.

But he’s caught where he is, eyes glued to the red smears upon the ground before him.

Hands. They’re shaped like hands, clawing across the floorboards in an attempt for escape.

Jay’s head begins to buzz.

(it’s okay)

(it’s not)

(it’s really not)

He knew the blood must’ve been hiding somewhere. Tim wouldn’t lie about something like this. He was warning Jay.

(but the blood)

(a tunnel)

(a man is at the end of the tunnel and he wants /your/ blood)

(he was your—)

(your—)

Jay commands himself to get up.

He can’t. His muscles are tight and his head pulses with unexpected pain.

(—friend wants to kill you, you deserve it, you fucking—)

He can’t breathe.

It takes strength from a place he didn’t know existed to pull himself upright. It’s not his strength, he doesn’t think so, it’s a movement born out of an instinct to run from danger. The danger is settled in his skull, though, heavy and sharp and pricking him in all the most delicate places.

Jay makes it to the top of the stairs, swaying and breathing, his ears /roaring/ though he cannot hear anything at all. He tells himself where he is, tells himself that he’s safe—

(you’ve done this twenty times this week and it hasn’t worked at all)

“Has to work,” he says aloud, like he might convince himself.

“What has to work?”

Tim’s voice comes from seemingly nowhere, sending a frightened shock through his spine. He nearly tumbles backwards on the steps to the basement, and for a split second he hears the sound of his own head breaking open— but it’s his imagination. There’s a hand around his wrist, pulling him to his feet and steadying him.

He looks into Tim’s eyes, confusion written all over his face. That bewilderment wilts, then darkens into worry as Jay is turned around and guided to the living room. It’s far too bright there, like—

(like the end of a tunnel)

Jay retches loudly, covering his mouth. He’s forced into sitting on the couch, and Tim pins his wrists there, demanding he look at him. His voice is faraway, echoing, but it falters, sounding real and unreal and then, real again.

“Jay. You’re here with me. Tell me you’re here with me.”

The man nods, his eyes flickering up to take in the sun that streams into the room. That’s real. Tim is real. The hands upon him, the voice calling his attention back, that’s all real.

“Don’t just nod at me. Tell me you’re here.”

“I-I’m here,” Jay manages, voice cracking. He breathes in, looking right at Tim and telling himself again and again, he’s here; Tim brought him here to keep him safe. They’re safe. They’re both safe.

“I’m here,” he repeats. “I’m…”

The roaring is gone and Jay knows he’s in the house with Tim and Alex. He’s okay, he isn’t bleeding, no one’s bleeding. The tunnel is far, far away, nothing inside of it, no guns, no hooded figures, no dead bodies.

“You okay?”

Tim paws at his forearms. Jay didn’t realize it, but he’s kneeling in front of him, looking up at him. It’s an odd feeling. He expects Tim to scold him, or something like that, something parental. But his eyes are too gentle for that.

“I dunno,” Jay answers honestly, shivering at the cold air. He must have broken out into a sweat; the draft upon his damp skin is awful but probably good for him. It anchors him into place. “…I was in the basement.”

“I figured that out,” Tim replies somewhat shortly, squeezing at his arms. He stares down at the floor a moment in thought, reemerging a second later with a disappointed frown upon his lips. “You went into the basement and broke into the backroom, didn’t you?”

Jay nods. Tim breathes hard through his nose, stepping up to sit at Jay’s side. Propping his elbows on his knees, he leans forward and runs his hands through his hair.

“I blocked the room for a reason. I did that,” he confesses, sitting up and holding a hand up to stop the apology that Jay’s about to utter. “Don’t. You didn’t know. I should’ve said something but I’ve been busy with Alex and then helping you clean up.”

“You blocked it off. Okay,” Jay says quietly, looking down into his hands. He frowns. “But why?”

“I didn’t think you’d respond well,” Tim replies, not quite looking at Jay. “I hope it doesn’t come across as me babying you, but I didn’t think you’d like it if it upset me.”

Oh.

Jay can’t look away from his hands. All he can think of is Tim going downstairs, and coming back up just fine, his brain slightly addled but he doesn’t /break/. Because he’s strong. He’s pulled through every imaginable trouble possible and come out shaken, but he heals. He doesn’t pick at the scabs.

(you’re pathetic)

“Do you need me to stay?”

He shakes his head before he even gives himself a chance to think about it. He’s been trying so hard, keeping everything under wraps: locking himself in the bedroom, biting into his pillow and screaming it all out of his body until his throat is raw and nothing is left inside of him.

Tim and Alex need him. They need him to be someone who is healthy. They need him as their friend.

(pathetic and weak and broken and insane, /insane/)

Tim’s hand is on his back, gentle, patting him and saying he’ll be upstairs if he needs him, but Jay is going to make sure he doesn’t need him. He’s going to be okay, he’s going to wear this imaginary limb until it becomes real, and it’s going to be /okay/.

It has to be.


	7. Chapter 7

“Jay’s hiding something.”

Tim nearly jumps and drops his cigarette at the sound of Alex’s voice. He whirls around and sees him emerging from the front door. Even from a slight distance, he can see that he’s looking worse for the wear. Whenever Tim saw him before, it was on camera, and that did quite a bit to hide the scars and dirt. Since he’s still not had anything similar to a shower yet, well— Tim supposes he isn’t much better, but he’s trying his best not to think about it. It makes going out in public a lot easier.

“What makes you say that?” Tim asks, blowing smoke from his lips. Alex stands before him, arms crossed and face stern, as per usual. Tim absently wonders if it’s tiring looking so surly all the time. It might explain Alex’s surliness in the first place; he’s too tired to be anything but surly.

“I caught him in his room yesterday red-eyed and shaking,” Alex replies, making it sound as though crying is a crime. “He wouldn’t tell me what’s going on and kept pretending he just hadn’t gotten enough sleep.”

Tim has to keep from rolling his eyes. If Alex hadn’t locked himself alone in his room yesterday to sulk or whatever the hell it is he does, he might have actually seen what happened to Jay firsthand.

“He’s fine,” Tim says, taking a drag from the cigarette and politely blowing the smoke over his shoulder. “He got a bit upset by something and probably needed some time alone.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Alex pushes, dropping his arms from his chest and clenching his fists at his sides. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him like that.”

That gives Tim pause. He raises his eyebrows and lowers the cigarette from his lips.

“That’s news to me. He’s seemed okay since we got here. Like…”

“Surprisingly okay?” Alex finishes for him, his frown forming into a scowl.

It’s true. Tim hasn’t wanted to say anything, nervous he may disturb whatever balance or peace Jay might have somehow found. He feels a good bit of said peace is genuine, now that he’s out of the tall creature’s reach. But it’s almost absurd, how well he’s doing after nearly dying.

“I guess it’s too much to hope that he’d magically become a master of communication, huh,” Tim sighs, flicking his cigarette to the ground and scraping it underneath his shoe. “Out of curiosity, how many times have you apparently caught him like that?”

“Enough to know he’s got to be putting up an act,” Alex huffs, glancing back at the house. His stare rises to the second floor, fixing upon the shattered window. Jay’s room. “I’ll admit, I don’t know for sure why he’s hiding things from us. I’ve got my theories, but I doubt he’ll confirm them if I go and talk to him.”

He’s right. Tim knows Jay is awful when it comes to hiding things from others. He’s an even worse liar, though. It was difficult leaving his side the other night after he emerged from the basement; Tim had suspected he wasn’t telling the truth when he said he was okay, but he knew it wouldn’t be any good to push Jay by forcing his presence upon him.

“What’re your theories?” Tim asks as Alex turns back to him, though he’s already got a good idea of what they might be.

“He’s trying to pull some noble bullshit and ‘stay strong’ for us or something,” Alex says with such exasperation, he just might wilt to the ground. Tim nods; he figured it might be something along those lines. “He might think whatever’s going on in his head isn’t as important or serious as what’s going on in ours… or he’s up to something, but, honestly.”

He pulls up his sleeve, revealing gauze and bandages that probably should have been changed days ago, but Tim suspects Alex isn’t about to let Jay perform any more first aid on him. He caught him that one night when his guard was down.

“If he were up to something that’s lethal to either you or me, he’s being an idiot about it, because I wouldn’t fix up the guy I’m out to get,” Alex explains before dropping his sleeve. He gives a weak shrug before looking back at Jay’s room again. “Jay’s not that smart. But he’s not /that/ stupid either.”

Nodding in agreement, Tim looks up at Jay’s room as well. He thinks he can see him there now, peeking through the barely-there glass and wondering what his two ‘roommates’ are up to. It must look odd, to see them talking civilly after the way they’d behaved before.

“So what’re we gonna do? Assuming this is a ‘we’ thing, since you came to me about this,” Tim says, watching the vaguely Jay-shaped blur vanish from behind the window.

“We need to leave.”

“…Leave? Here?”

“I mean leave the house. I know where we can go,” Alex explains, his shoulders going up into another shrug. “I don’t know about you, but living here without any utilities like electricity or water, it’s not doing me any good. It’s not doing Jay any good either. He might think we’re staying here permanently, going by the cleaning he’s doing, but that’s not happening if I can help it. I think it’d be best if we had a bit more normalcy in our lives anyway and a proper living space will provide that.”

Tim can’t figure out whether the idea doesn’t sit right because it’s Alex, or because he’s put so much work into making this house livable. It must be Alex, because Tim knows logically that any house that provides him with a fucking shower is better than this sad dump.

“Great idea. Difficult to pull off without a job,” Tim reminds him.

“Good advice, but I’ve got that handled.”

Alex pinches the bridge of his nose, like the thought of whatever he’s about to say turns his stomach. He shoves his fists into his pockets and looks Tim in the eye.

“We’re gonna go settle with my parents for a while.”

That’s where Alex loses him. If it were anyone else, it would be fine, but Tim is looking at Alex and trying to picture him as a person with parents. He’s /human/, of course he’s going to have parents.

But that’s the problem; Tim hasn’t really seen Alex as human in a long time. He’s just /there/.

“Are you sure they’ll be, uh, okay with that?” Tim asks, trying his best not to sound doubtful. “I mean, how long’s it been since they last /saw/ you? Now you’ll just show up with these two sick looking weirdos you call friends? They’ll probably think you’ve been off shooting up for the past however many years.”

(He tries not to think about how he just called himself Alex’s friend.)

“Which would likely work in my favor, if you think about it,” Alex retorts gruffly. “They’d be awful relieved knowing I’m off the streets and under their watch. Besides, I never stopped calling ‘em. I didn’t always have much to say but I didn’t want them filing a missing person’s report.”

(He tries harder not to think about how Alex didn’t deny that he’s his friend.)

“…Look, I know you’ll never trust me,” Alex huffs with a roll of his eyes. He turns and begins to make his way back to the house. “But I’m taking Jay with me no matter what. He shouldn’t be here.”

“No, I agree with you— besides, I could totally go for a shower right now,” Tim admits. He closes the distance Alex put between them and crosses his arms, intentionally blocking the way inside the house. “But, I’m not leaving him alone with you. Because you’re right. I don’t trust you.”

The knowing grin that crosses Alex’s face makes Tim’s insides turn a couple angry flops.

“Good answer. Even if it’s a stupid one. I hardly have the energy to keep myself alive, let alone kill anyone.”

With that, Alex shoves Tim aside with his shoulder— the first physical contact they’ve had since their truce. It would prompt a punch from Tim if he wasn’t trying to make good on his promise with Jay. He tentatively follows Alex inside, only to find that he’s stopped in front of the staircase with his eyes turned skyward.

“What?” Tim asks, failing to chase the irritability from his voice.

“Thinking about how you and Jay’ll eventually move on from me and probably find a place together,” Alex tells him, fingers dancing along the end of the staircase railing. He leaves behind long trails where his fingers have picked up on the dust. “You and him are more put together than I am. And you trust him. You might even like him. So you’ll leave me behind. And at least I’ll be at my parents’ place instead of here. I’ll have a fighting chance.”

Tim stares at the back of the man’s head. It’s off-putting, having Alex be this open with him. And it’s /sad/; all the self-pity dripping off of his words is just short of annoying. But Tim isn’t about to tell him that.

“You’re an idiot.”

He will tell him that, though. He has no qualms about reminding Alex Kralie of his stupidity.

The other man turns around, squinting suspiciously at Tim.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’re being an idiot,” Tim responds, taking a quiet step back to put distance between them. He might be trying to follow Jay’s request for peace to a T, but that doesn’t mean Alex will when provoked. Which, surprisingly, isn’t Tim’s intention here; he doesn’t want to provoke him but reassure him. “Jay cares about you too much. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have fought me on kicking you out. He’s not just being a decent person. If he was, he would have done the decent thing and tried to put you down the moment he saw you again. And what did he do when he saw you, Alex?”

Alex is silent. He looks at Tim with big eyes. It’s weird, seeing him surprised. Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever stop feeling weird about Alex acting anything short of violent and condescending.

“He tried to talk to you. He wanted to reason with you because he still cared about you,” Tim answers for him, hands going to rest at his hips. “If you really think Jay’s going to up and leave you behind without a fight, then you’re actually an idiot.”

Alex still doesn’t say anything to that. He manages a nod, acknowledging Tim’s words, but nothing beyond that. When he fails to respond after a moment, Tim brushes past him, figuring the conversation is over. He ought to start packing what little possessions they brought and tell Jay the new plans.

He pauses about halfway up the steps, then turns to look back at Alex. He hasn’t moved.

“Be careful.”

Alex frowns up at him, finally looking alive.

“Why?”

“I’m beginning to think you might actually care about him. Wouldn’t want to send the wrong message.”

Tim turns away, deciding not to wait for a response. Judging by the silence behind him, he isn’t going to get one anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood mention and a mention of firearms.

“What’s eating you?”

Maybe Jay threw that last bag into the car with a bit too much force. He’s been roping himself in all morning, sharing any smart remarks he might have with the imaginary audience in his head instead of with his companions. Still, he supposes some things can’t help slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing, Tim,” he replies, shutting the car trunk and catching his friend in the middle of lighting up another cigarette. It’s like he’s trying to get as much nicotine as he can before they’re stuck on the road for three hours together. “Just— this whole uprooting thing, again.”

“We were only here for about a month or so,” Tim says, looking to the crumpled house with a wrinkled nose. “It’s not like this place is actually livable, no matter what we do with it.”

“Yeah, but, it was ours,” Jay tries uselessly. He knows it’s stupid to argue, especially when he takes in Tim’s appearance and sees that he’s beginning to lose weight. It’s not very pronounced, but it shows in the jutting of his cheekbones. Sentimentality holds no value when it comes to their current situation. They need to find a more suitable living space, now.

“You make it sound like we willingly went out and bought this house as a family.”

Tim drops his cigarette. He’s not even halfway through it, and he still stamps it out and proceeds to light up another one. Great. Chain-smoking. Jay’s never seen him do that before. He hopes it doesn’t become a habit; cigarettes are expensive and they hardly have room in their pennies-and-nickels budget for such expenses.

“You’re absolutely sure about this move?” Jay asks, and he thinks he sees Tim hesitating to answer for a moment. He looks to Jay, a nervous twitch in his step, and opens his mouth to speak— his reply is quickly drowned out by the slam of the front door.

Alex stands at the top of the steps, his hands empty. If he wasn’t worried for the trunk’s wellbeing, Jay would ask if he’s sure that he’s got everything he needs to bring with him. It seems though that the clothes on his back will be all that he needs for this trip.

“So,” he clears his throat, strolling up to the car and looking it over with wary eyes. He glances fleetingly at the driver’s side, hopeful. “Who’s driving this carriage today?”

“Me, obviously,” Tim snaps, throwing the last cigarette to the curb without a second thought to how much more use he could’ve gotten out of it. “Don’t think I didn’t see you grab those last dregs of whiskey you keep in your room for breakfast. You’re sneaky but not that sneaky.”

Jay’s insides violently flip-flop at that. He didn’t know Alex had been drinking already. He looks towards the taller man, trying to figure out what to say, but the sight of him actually /blushing/ makes it hard to speak at all. Him, flustered? Cats might be barking and pigs could be flying.

“Fine,” Alex growls under his breath, grabbing his jacket’s zipper and pulling it up. He’s about to go around to the passenger’s side when Tim opens the door and calls Jay’s name, stopping Alex in his tracks. Jay scurries to the seat, making sure not to look Alex in the eye.

The day is off to a great start.

(not that you’re helping, really)

Jay closes his eyes tightly and balls up in his seat. He can’t do that right now. He’s caused enough trouble as it is. He tried his best to keep from disrupting the peace, but when he let his defenses down—

_(“Jay?”)_

_(you jump, heart juddering hard in your already pained chest. you thought someone was watching through the door, peering with curious eyes, but you assumed it was a residual moment of paranoia. you’re still having those. do tim and alex have these too?)_

_(“What?” you huff, more snappishly than you like. alex hesitates behind the door, though not for long. he steps in, posture strangely loose and something about him is being reigned in; he’s a step short of looking /gentle/, for fuck’s sake.)_

_(“I thought I heard you, uh, well, something. I thought I heard something.”)_

_(shit)_

_(you don’t emerge from beneath the blankets. it’s like when you were a kid; the blankets protect you from everything, even the penetrating stare directed at you right now. it won’t see the drying tear tracks upon your cheeks if you sit completely still beneath the covers.)_

_(“Probably the house settling, it’s quiet in—“)_

_(“Bullshit. You know what I heard. You’re what I heard.”)_

_(you wince, curling up under the dirty sheets. chancing a peek over them, you see he’s closer now. he catches your eye and, awful as it is, he understands instantly.)_

_(“This whole communication thing you’ve started doing, that’s sort of a good thing,” alex says, keeping a steady distance from the bed. “Please don’t decide you’ve forgotten how to talk shit out just because you’re upset.”)_

_(“I’m not upset,” you say back, instantly feeling your stomach twist with guilt. but it’s for his own good, he needs to focus on himself, he can’t be picking up after your messes, you idiot. “It’s my own business. And it really doesn’t matter much. So. Don’t worry about it.”_

_“If you spew any more bullshit, you might just turn into an actual bull, Jay,” alex sighs. “This isn’t right. You’ve been /happy/. Something’s gotta be going on, so if you’ll just tell me…”_

_he gives in and begins to approach you. everything inside of you jerks in resistance, and you jolt upright, sliding backwards across the mattress. if he touches you, you don’t know what you’ll do, you’re still seeing things in your head that aren’t totally real and you’re seeing the bloody handprints from the basement all over the walls now, and you’ve got to be imagining the gun-shaped lump in his pocket, but, but—_

_/bang bang/_

_“Would you just leave me alone?!”_

_the blood begins to drip from the handprints and it’s upon his face, it’s /yours/_

_“Jay—”_

_“I said it’s none of your fucking business, just, get out, get—”_

_you’re on your feet your breath is heaving he’s stumbling backward and you see the college student you knew for a split second, eyes wide, vulnerable, and you see yourself there, just as frightened and confused and_

_/bang/_

_“Leave me alone!”_

_the door is shut, and you’re alone again._

_he knocks, asking you what the fuck that just was, but you don’t respond. you can’t because you don’t know the answer._

_instead you grip your throat, breathing for dear life.)_

The car rumbles to life. Jay leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the broken down house he almost dared to call home.

He wonders why he did that when he was never truly happy there in the first place.

—

Alex has never wanted to kill a man more in his life, and it’s scary to him how much more weight the feeling has upon him, with his past in mind.

“I should’ve driven,” he calls up to the front of the car. He can see Tim’s knuckles going white around the steering wheel.

“You were fucking intoxicated, you weren’t driving us anywhere,” he snaps back, hitting the brakes with more force than necessary as they roll up to a stoplight. “If anything, you would’ve driven us right into a pole.”

Alex huffs. Earlier in the day, he had been giving Tim the benefit of the doubt. Their surroundings had seemed familiar enough to him, like maybe his parents had brought him through here and there on the way to a relative’s birthday. But none of the street signs they’ve passed look familiar to him. They should’ve reached the house about three hours ago, but with the sun gone, he’s certain they’ve wasted at least five hours driving into the wrong town.

“We can’t keep driving in circles like this,” Tim says, his voice threatening to crack with nerves. He pulls the car over, giving himself the opportunity to slam his head against the steering wheel. “I have no idea where I took a wrong turn.”

“Whatever,” Alex grumbles, kicking at the back of Tim’s seat. He goes for the door, letting himself out and feeling his knees crack loudly in protest. Save for a quick pit stop halfway into the trip, he hasn’t stretched his legs very much at all. He sticks to the side of the car, barely getting clipped by a van as it rushes by.

Tim follows, letting himself out and going to glare at the road like it had done him a great wrong.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we need to find a hotel to stay in,” he says. He passes Alex by, pointedly bumping him with his shoulder as he goes to open the trunk. Seeing him peek inside, Alex hears the faint rustle of their bags being ripped through by frustrated hands. “Not enough… we’ve got enough for like, one room, maybe one bed, if it’s a cheap place.”

Alex’s hand wanders to his pocket. Change jingles as he fishes past it to grab at the bills hiding at the very bottom. He tries not to look at Tim when he shuts the trunk, or, rather, slams it. Tim’s about to walk right past him, but then he spots the flash of green in Alex’s jacket pocket and—

“What the /fuck/, Alex.”

He feels heat pooling in his cheeks. If only he were talking to Jay; his face a bit less punchable than Tim’s and he seems more likely to be disappointed in him rather than angry.

“I know I said I didn’t have money,” he confesses, closing his fist tightly around the wad of bills. Tim grabs his wrist tightly enough to make him unclench. He snatches the money from his hand and counts, his scowl deepening with each bill. “I wasn’t lying, though. I didn’t have any when I first showed up.”

“So where’d you get all this? Same place you got those cigarettes?” Tim says, accusation dripping thickly from his voice. Alex breathes in deep. One. Two. Three. Four. He can keep from hitting him if he pictures it in his head instead of actually doing it.

“No, actually. I paid for the cigarettes.”

“That only answers half the question, Alex.”

“Look, does it matter what I did?” he barks sharply, turning on him. He gestures to Jay in the passenger seat, deep asleep and twitching every time a car drives by. “C’mon. I— I feel like I owe Jay a proper room at least. Use my money for the room. Two beds, one, I don’t care, I could sleep on the roof. Just take the money and drive straight for a bit, I saw a sign saying lodging was coming up.”

Tim gives pause at that, evidently taken aback.

(Alex has to stare at the ground; he doesn’t think Tim will ever stop being surprised when he shows he actually gives a damn about Jay. Caring about him? He doesn’t know if he’s willing to call it that, but—)

“So that’s what it is,” Tim sighs, shoving the money into his jeans pocket. He turns back to the driver’s side door and opens it, dropping back into his seat. “You just feel like you owe him. Fine. I’ll take that over—”

“Just fucking drive,” Alex hisses, opening his door as well and slamming it shut behind him.

(Tim doesn’t get a say in what it is that’s driving Alex to act like this. Especially not when he says something like /that/, something that causes his stomach to twist around until it’s in complete knots.)

(He tucks his feet beneath his body, preventing himself from kicking out at Tim’s seat in frustration.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for vomit and firearm mention.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Jay announces, promptly before running right into their hotel room’s bathroom and locking himself inside.

He can practically hear Alex and Tim rolling their eyes at him. Of course he’d be the one to get carsick after being stuck on the road for seven hours straight. Half of that time was spent sleeping, so he didn’t know that they’d gotten lost at first, nor did he know that they were going to be staying overnight at a hotel.

If he’s honest with himself, he has to admit that the idea of sleeping overnight in a /hotel/ terrifies him. Maybe that’s why he’s retching into the sink and gagging on the taste right now. Not carsickness. Hotelsickness. New illness. Something that only happens when you’re a recovering cameraholic.

He laughs to himself pitifully, standing up straight and wiping his mouth. His reflection is illuminated by the sharp artificial light, light that doesn’t rely upon a lighter or match. The sight makes his hollow insides ache; he already knew he looked bad, but he wishes he wasn’t so dizzy. If he could keep steady on his feet, maybe he could take a shower.

But as luck would have it, as soon as he has access to proper facilities, he’s unable to put them to use. It’d annoy him more if he wasn’t desperate to crawl into bed and play dead until it’s time to leave.

He ought to tell his companions. It’d be easier on him, anyway, having a bit of reassurance that he isn’t going to die here.

No. He’s being ridiculous, he needs to lay down and sleep until this is over, and then he’ll be okay. He doesn’t need to cause any more trouble. They already up and left the house because of him, didn’t they?

(troublemaker)

“Not now, no,” Jay murmurs into the sink. He switches on the cold water and cups a mouthful in his hands. It takes away the burning in his throat, and once the basin is clean again, he leaves the bathroom and finds Tim and Alex pointedly avoiding one another back in the bedroom. As expected.

“I’m going to sleep,” Jay says to the pair of them. They don’t even twitch. Alex sticks to the desk, staring blankly into space, and Tim irritably fusses with the window shades. He doesn’t care much; at least they’re not stopping him from getting into bed. “I don’t care who shares the bed, just don’t wake me up.”

“You slept the whole time in the car,” Tim points out, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, but I’m not going to let myself consciously re-live the lovely experience of staying in a hotel again if I can help it,” Jay snaps, clinging to the heavy sheets. He closes his eyes tight, willing himself to sleep, counting imaginary sheep and concentrating on his breathing.

Alex huffs from across the room, mutters something about how he’s ‘doing it again, hiding stuff from us’. Tim huffs back, telling him to fuck off and let Jay sleep.

Jay would be bothered by the confrontational tone of his voice if he wasn’t so grateful to Tim for shutting Alex up.

And, surprising himself for the hundredth time after living a lifetime of uneasy slumbering, Jay falls asleep easily.

—

Alex perches at the desk, scribbling out nonsense on the notepad provided by the hotel. He’d put the television on, but he sees how lightly Jay is sleeping, rolling back and forth and whimpering to himself.

Besides, it’s not like he has any interest in TV, not anymore. It used to inspire him to write and create movies— but what would he even do with the inspiration? He’s never touching a camera again if he can help it.

He could sleep. But that’d mean having to make the decision between letting Tim have the second bed (because there’s no fucking way he’s sleeping next to him), or sliding in next to Jay. Alex isn’t ready to make that decision, and maybe he never will be, but for now he’ll wait it out as long as he possibly can.

“Would you quit staring at him? It’s getting unsettling.”

Jerking into a straight sitting position, Alex turns his stare to a rather agitated Tim, turning a cigarette over and over between his fingers. Judging by the crushed box in his other hand, this is his last one.

“I’m not staring.”

“Yeah, you are, at Jay,” Tim says, frowning over at him. He looks him up and down, as though making certain he hasn’t reverted back into the creature that had been wearing his skin for the last couple of years. Alex holds in a scowl, gritting his teeth instead.

“You’re going to behave if I go to smoke, aren’t you?” Tim asks testily, tossing the emptied box towards the trash can and missing. He chases after it, grumbling to himself.

“Huh, funny you’d ask, what with you leaving me alone with him several times in the old house,” Alex points out, dropping the hotel pen to keep from snapping it in half. He already knows how badly he fucked up. Tim doesn’t need to remind him every five seconds or so.

The man freezes in place before turning his stare to Alex, a scowl spreading across his face. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything, apparently at a loss for words. Alex tries his best not to feel too accomplished in shutting him up, biting back the smirk threatening to curl his lips.

Shaking his head, Tim leaves the room, and Alex can finally breathe freely.

He drops off of the desk and approaches the second bed. After that little spat, the decision as to whether he ought to let Tim have the bed is much easier to make. Besides, he can feel the hangover beginning to set in, and he’d rather sleep through it than have to be conscious and face the consequences of early morning drinking.

It’s the soft whimper of his name from across the room that stops him from getting into bed.

Alex’s breath catches in his throat. He looks at Jay’s sleeping form, the blankets disturbed and tugged off of his chest by his squirming limbs. It shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary; he doubts Jay is the calmest of sleepers these days. But—

“Jay?” he calls out quietly, testing it. He crawls across the bed, sitting on the edge and watching the sleeping man curiously. Jay whimpers again, his brow furrowing and his breath coming out in a shudder. Alex leans closer, wondering if he ought to wake him.

He doesn’t get the chance to. Jay bolts upright then, a strangled yell tearing from his throat. He can’t get enough breath to make it into proper scream, and he starts coughing, curling into himself as he does.

Instinct kicks in, prompting Alex to stand— and do what? He stares on, confused, wanting to help, but whatever nightmare Jay was trapped in is over. What use could he be now?

Then he catches Jay’s eyes, and it’s there. Alex doesn’t need to ask what he was dreaming about. The sudden widening of his eyes and the flinch is enough.

“Sorry,” Alex mutters, turning away. Maybe he ought to leave the room. Sleep out in the hallway.

He would have, if Jay hadn’t reached out and grabbed a handful of the back of his shirt.

“No, don’t, I’m sorry, please—”

“Why are /you/ saying sorry?” Alex asks incredulously, his heart jumping in his chest. He looks back at Jay, and, something isn’t right, but it isn’t /wrong/ either, he can’t get a fucking read on this and it scares him.

“H-had a nightmare,” Jay sputters out, tugging him closer. He’s frantic, like a trapped animal. “About you, and, the gun—”

“I had a feeling. Now let me go, I’ll let you be.”

Alex tries to step back. The grip on his shirt fails to loosen.

Jay’s never looked at him like this before. He doesn’t know what to think. Fuck, he doesn’t remember /how/ to think.

His heart swoops into his stomach. The heat is back. He wants it to go away but it doesn’t listen. It never does.

(don’t make me—)

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

(—do this—)

“Please, Alex, Tim’s not here and I wouldn’t even ask him, I need it to be you, I— I need to know this is you, the real you.”

Hot shaking hands on his chest, pawing up to his shoulders, on his face, touching and making him flinch away.

How long has it been since anyone even touched him?

“Don’t go away, Alex.”

(—please, Jay.)

It’s the huge blue eyes with impossibly wide pupils that pull him in. He’s drowning in the heat expanding from his chest. It reaches with long spindly fingers and pricks all of his veins, setting them aflame. Falling— he’s clasping those warm hands in his own scorched fingers, and he’s down beside him, silent not because he chooses to be but because his voice has fled.

Alex thinks Jay can hear his heartbeat running out of control. Especially with his head there on his chest— he can’t breathe, he’s scared to breathe and disturb him or something or maybe he’s breaking apart right there.

He stares down at the man curled up against his body.

Why is he surprised to see him there when he can feel him, can hear him breathing?

(he could shatter, being this close, too close to him)

His arm goes around Jay’s shoulders, and he feels him shift in closer. He prays that he can’t feel his hand shaking where it rests.

(hasn’t touched anyone gently in years, hasn’t even craved it, it’s all he wants now—)

“Thank you.”

Alex startles, and this time Jay must hear the sudden thud of his heart.

“F-for what?”

If he could, he thinks Jay would be looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Staying. I need this.”

With that, Jay falls silent, and if Alex isn’t mistaken, he’s asleep within the next five minutes. Every minute might as well count for an hour. His eyes begin to ache as he stares helplessly up at the ceiling; no chance of sleep for him now.

He doesn’t know what to do. If he even ought to do anything.

(well, what do I want to do?)

He can’t be sure. But he thinks he wants to stay with Jay.

And so, he does. For the first time in years, he does something not out of necessity or to help himself get along.

He does it because he wants to. How long until this sort of thing stops being strange?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this chapter with a friend of mine, known on tumblr as the-elusive-ollie. Go visit them here (http://the-elusive-ollie.tumblr.com/), they're awesome.

It takes Jay a moment to remember that he’s not in the old house, with its long untouched mattresses and the filthy curtains drawn tight over the windows. The blankets are soft and fresh, and the air lacks the staleness that he had grown accustomed to.

He’s warm, too. He’s actually warm.

The faint thud and zip of a bag alerts him to Tim’s presence. Jay sits up slowly, bones crackling in protest.

"…hotel, we’re at a hotel," Jay mumbles, mostly to himself, though he does look to Tim for confirmation.

Tim rummages groggily through his luggage in search for pills. Sleep was not forthcoming the night before, and now he regrets not trying harder. The weight of night after restless night has begun to pull at his eyelids, itching and aching.

He hears the low indistinct murmur of Jay’s voice, something about a hotel, and he sweeps his gaze carelessly over the prone body of Alex curled beside him before returning his attention to the luggage.

Alex.

Beside Jay.

The /wrongness/ of the image hits Tim all at once and he jerks his head back up to stare again. Jay is looking at Tim now, innocent as always, as if he hasn’t spent the night sleeping beside his would-be murderer.

And Tim doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t - he can’t articulate his thoughts, turbulent emotions right now. On one hand - great! Fantastic! Tim reeks of sarcasm and wants to dump the two of them on the side of the road since they’re obviously /so much happier/ without him! And on the other…fuck, on the other Tim wishes nothing more than to grab Jay’s hand and drag him out of the hotel and drive as far and fast away from the hotel as possible, leave Alex and his baggage and his ambiguous past behind.

"What?"

Tim isn’t even looking at Jay. He’s somewhere in his head, in the clouds, anywhere else. Jay’s hair stands on end as he tries to go through his memories of the previous night. What did he do this time?

(since it’s always something /he/ did.)

Not much is there for him to pick up after; he recalls the taste of sick and the confusion of being woken up and dragged into a hotel without warning, but not much else.

Except a nightmare: the glisten of a gun and the sudden painful tug of reality, being pulled back to consciousness and realizing it was a dream, then, hands on him. Long, large hands, wrapping around him and soothing him, foreign in their gentleness.

He looks down at what ought to be the empty space beside him.

(Really, he should’ve figured it out earlier, should’ve felt the arm around him, the weight shifting around on the bed. But those aren’t things he checks for when he wakes up.)

(Why would he, after being alone for this long?)

The color flees from his face.

"Oh god," he mutters, looking over Alex’s sleeping form, his limbs carelessly sprawled out. "Oh— oh god, this, I— hallway."

Jay looks up at Tim, eyes pleading as he repeats himself and whispers ‘hallway’ again. Ever so carefully, he starts to slide out from under the sheets, watching Alex closely for any signs of wakefulness.

Tim can’t speak. He can hardly even move quietly, his hands visibly shaking with the effort to /not hit things/. He sees how carefully Jay moves, glancing anxiously behind him to ensure Alex has not woken, and it only incenses Tim further. The idea of them being close - /close, them!/ - is so alien and hostile, that for one awful second Tim wants nothing more than to scratch, pummel, mar every inch of Alex that he can reach.

But instead he follows Jay out into the hallway and the urge fades, but only marginally. Once the door has safely snapped shut behind them, Tim starts pacing. His hands, his entire body, won’t stop trembling. He’s beyond pissed off, beyond startled. He doesn’t know how to classify the tangle of emotions he’s experiencing. There’s frustration and rage, he can sort those out easy. Those have always been there, burning away at the back of his head, ever since he was consigned to the hospital like some juvenile science experiment. But then there are the more confusing feelings, like…what /is/ that? Remorse? Betrayal? Betrayal over what? It’s /Jay’s/ life, Tim tells himself coldly, not his.

So why, then, is he so angry?

"You’re not serious right now," Tim finally blurts out. "You and - !" He remembers they are in a /hotel hallway/ and lowers his voice, but it’s no less enraged. "You and him! /Him!/ Him-who-tried-to-kill-you him! Are you /out of your mind?/"

Jay’s face is so pale, so shocked and upset, that for an instant Tim wavers.

Only an instant. The next second Tim is back to wanting to drive his fist against the walls, hotel neighbors’ beauty rest be damned.

Tim yelling triggers a burst of red in Jay’s head, fear and memory blurring together and trying to form something that would take away all coherence he might have—

(fuck, no, not this early, the day hasn’t even started, he can’t)

He closes his eyes, counts to three, and reaches to grip at his pillow mussed hair, using the pain to anchor himself into place. It works, for time being.

"I /was/ out of my mind," Jay manages shakily, remembering it much more clearly now that he’s seen Alex next to him, reaching for him with all four limbs. Last night, he’d looked like himself, with this vulnerability behind his glassy stare. Jay missed that so much, he really did, and to have it presented to him when he’s at his weakest, he almost understands why he woke up as he did, but— still, why?

"I-I’d had a nightmare, with him in it, and I guess I wanted to reassure myself that it wasn’t real? It’s complicated, okay? It’s not like— it’s not like I /meant/ it."

(Now that he’s standing, thinking, wondering, he has to ask: why did Alex give in to his pleading the night before?)

(He was stronger, could’ve easily told him to fuck off or shoved him away.)

(But he—)

(He didn’t—)

"I don’t know what I was thinking," Jay whispers hoarsely.

"Oh, damn right," Tim growls back. "Cause I’m sure you remember the whole point in time where Alex was trying to /kill us/, right? Or is that just not relevant anymore?"

He screws his eyes shut, raising one fluttering hand to rub at his temples. The sight of Alex, blissfully asleep, presses up against his eyelids and they snap open again. He doesn’t want to think about him, him and Jay, /close/, like they’ve just been through some sort of fucking /couples therapy/.

(Is that…jealousy?)

No. Tim stamps the thought down immediately. He concedes to feeling protective of Jay at times; possessive, even, when it comes to Alex. But never, well, /jealous./

He just doesn’t want to see the guy get hurt. He doesn’t deserve that. None of them do.

(Maybe Alex.)

(Tim thinks, yeah, definitely Alex.)

"Would you quit it," Jay shoots back, though not with nearly as much bite. He lets his hands drop away from his hair, wincing when he realizes how hard he was pulling. Leaning back against the door, he stares towards the ceiling, fluorescent lights burning his vision. "He’s had all this time to kill us, time alone with me, you, with both of us sleeping and, and he hasn’t, okay? I don’t trust him, but I— stop it!"

He grinds his teeth at Tim’s vicious scoff. It’s true, he doesn’t trust him, but what’s it worth putting all this effort into being cautious of somebody who would prefer to flop around the house drunk? It’s /hard/ to be scared all the time, he’s tired of it. He spends enough time holed up in his room shaking from the memories that plague him when he’s sitting still and not forcing all of his energy into his environment. If he can’t die, what’s the point of fearing one’s would-be murderer?

"Just because half-asleep me thought he would be good for… I don’t know, some sort of comfort, doesn’t mean I’d do it again, I don’t know why I even thought it was a good idea."

Tim doesn’t say anything, not right away. His stare remains icy as ever though, leaving Jay cold and irritable all over. He just said he didn’t mean it, and besides, nothing happened, he isn’t bleeding out all over the floor or anything, so…—

"What does it matter to you anyway?" Jay huffs.

"It /matters,/" Tim grates out between clenched teeth. "Because we can’t trust him. He tried to kill you - and me. I don’t care how cuddly he is now."

He spits the last few words out like poison. The vehemence of his tone ignites a flash of hurt in Jay’s expression, but Tim does his best to ignore it.

(Can’t ignore it, not really, not with how painfully thin and tired and fucking /fragile/ he looks, not when he’s finally found someone to touch and cling to and someone he feels /safe/ with - )

(But did that someone have to be /Alex/?)

There’s the slam of a door behind them, and Tim whips his head around just in time to catch the heel of some anonymous hotel resident as it disappears around the corner. Tim envies them, achingly so, because he’d give anything to not be in this hall right now, not having this conversation, not having one ear pricked for any potential sounds of Alex stirring within the room.

…But he doesn’t have that person’s life, and he likely never will have anything resembling their life (/normal/, he snorts softly to himself. what’s that?), and like it or not, he has to stand in this hallway and have this conversation and fucking /deal/ with it.

Tim continues to knead his temples ever more rapidly. The headache churning in his skull is only mounting.

"Look," he tries to start again. "Having him around is one thing. Sleeping with him, though? Or next to him, in the same bed, whatever!" He waves away the look on Jay’s face, like he’s about to protest. "We gotta keep him at arm’s length, okay?"

Every time Tim mentions Alex’s murderous streak (he’s lost count how many times he has by now), Jay wants to scream inside. It’s a gut feeling, this not-so-much-trust-but-/something/ that tells him Alex isn’t the same as he was a couple of months ago. Tim must see it too, otherwise he never would’ve conceded to Jay’s request that he and Alex stop fighting.

(so why bring it up now? has this been laying dormant, waiting to be ripped back out into the open?)

"I’m not about to go leaping back in and kiss him on the head," Jay promises, shoulders sinking in defeat. He turns his stare to the tacky carpet, kicking lightly at it with his bare foot. "It was a weird moment and I don’t really know how it happened. It just did. I’m— I won’t do it again."

God, he feels like a scolded child. ‘Don’t go running around with that Kralie boy, hear?’

The faint creaking of the bed from within the room sends a flustered shock up through Jay. He grips at Tim’s sleeve, pulse fluttering fast.

"Don’t tell him," Jay begs, shaking his head. "I don’t know if he even remembers, he was just about hungover and— and I don’t want to have to talk to him about this."

(not yet. someday, because Jay can’t stand having answers kept from him forever, but not now. his stomach twists painfully at the very prospect.)

Tim sees the pained expression on Jay’s face and he can feel the tearing in his heart. His hands are on Tim’s sleeve and there’s so much strength behind those seemingly frail muscles, more strength than Tim could have predicted.

Jay’s clinging to him like a lifeline.

And now there’s a fresh welling of conflict to further irritate the pounding in his skull. Telling Alex was never an option, not to him. /Anything/ to do with Alex is generally not an option, unless it involves hitting things.

But all the same.

Tim grips that ripple of relief that comes with Jay’s promise. That’s /his/ lifeline. He’s terrified of losing his friend again, of having him just slip away, and Tim’s anger dissolves into worry. Mostly.

(He’s still angry at Alex, but that feeling is more or less just /there/, a persistent presence running in his veins, ever since the awful day Tim sat down and searched “Marble Hornets” and discovered the entries.)

The panic in Jay’s eyes doesn’t fade until Tim nods, and even then it doesn’t leave his face completely. He releases Tim’s sleeve, and lets out a long broken exhale. He doesn’t understand why Tim even bothers worrying over him like this. He’d get it if the situation concerned Tim’s wellbeing, which in a way, it does, but he wasn’t exactly the one to wake up in the middle of the night and demand Alex’s arms around him.

(he can’t avoid the queston forever. It hovers in the back of his mind, persistent: why did he do it? why did Alex let him? why why why?)

What matters for now is that they go back inside and make an attempt to look semi-human. After all, check-out’s at 11, and Alex’s childhood home is three hours away.

They need to get moving, no matter what mistakes were made in the night.


	11. Chapter 11

AK-director-

Alright talk to me

Hornetssuck-

Are you actually texting me when you’re sitting behind me?

AK-director-

Yeah every time I talk Tim gives me the death glare, tell me why he’s so pissed

Hornetssuck-

You’re you.

AK-director-

That’s true but I got a feeling this involves you if he’s glaring at you too

Hornetssuck-

Nothing’s going on. We’re just tired.

AK-director-

You know you do that huff-puff thing you do when you’re lying even when it’s over text right

Hornetssuck-

I do not have a huff puff thing. Leave me alone, I don’t feel well.

AK-director-

Tell me what happened first

Hornetssuck-

I’m turning my phone off.

AK-director-

Jay

AK-director-

Jay what the fuck why are you hiding shit from me

AK-director-

Jay

AK-director-

Please look at me Jay

—

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Nothing, for the past month, nothing at all! I called your cell phone every single day! What the fuck is your excuse for this, Alex Kralie?”

“I think I can tell which parent Alex got his whole ‘constantly angry and screaming’ thing from,” Tim whispers to Jay. The smaller man nods, flinching when Alex begins to yell back.

“It doesn’t matter! I’m home, aren’t I? It’s none of your business!”

Tim picks at the thread of a couch throw pillow, staring off into the distance. Jay isn’t much different; he scuffs at the floor with his feet. He couldn’t look any more uncomfortable if he tried. He shrinks further into himself every time the screaming from the kitchen rises in volume. If he gets any smaller, he might begin to implode on himself. Tim wants to say something to soothe him, but he can’t come up with anything beyond ‘it won’t go on forever’.

He isn’t exactly in the mood to be comforting Jay, anyway.

“I guess he had it coming to him,” Jay mumbles, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees. Tim doesn’t even try to stifle the smirk pulling at his lips.

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

For all the time he’s spent trying to reign in his frustration with Alex, this definitely makes up for it.

That doesn’t make being here for it any less awkward. At least he and Jay had the chance to flee into the living room once it began.

(Which was around the very moment they stepped into the house together.)

“Oh, boys.”

Tim perks up, elbowing Jay in the side to get him to move his feet off the couch. Mrs. Kralie approaches them with wringing hands and a shy smile. Her eyes are absurdly similar to Alex’s, though they’re much softer than her son’s. Otherwise she couldn’t look any more different from him, with short choppy blonde hair and a height to match Tim’s.

“I’m so sorry about this,” she says in a stage whisper, hunching close to them. She takes Tim’s hand between her own, squeezing it tight. “I promise we’re happy you brought him home. We missed him so much.”

“I can tell,” Tim jokes, nervously grinning as he pulls his hand from her grip. He crosses his arms, hiding his hands from any further invasion of personal space. “Sorry we came by and disturbed the peace. But it was his idea to come back. Not ours.”

Mrs. Kralie’s face softens, her smile so wide that Tim can’t bring himself to say they’re only here to mooch off of their facilities.

The shouting over in the kitchen comes to an abrupt stop. Mrs. Kralie stares expectantly towards the suddenly silent room, Tim and Jay following suit with raised eyebrows.

Any tension in the air snaps away into nothing when Alex steps out into the living room, the oddest of smiles on his face.

“Well. You two ready to unpack?” he asks, nodding in his companions’ direction. Tim tries not to bristle at how casually Alex refers to him. It’s been hard enough keeping his fists to himself since they first piled into the car this morning.

“I got it,” Jay blurts out, stepping off of the couch. He stumbles over his feet, ridiculously eager to get out of the room. Tim scoffs to himself; during the drive, if there’d been enough space, Jay would’ve stowed away in the trunk just to get away from Alex. It would be funny, if Tim didn’t know the reason why.

(not to mention how much the reason pisses him off.)

Mrs. Kralie bustles over to Alex, taking him by the head and pulling it down to kiss his hair. He winces, but he doesn’t resist, even managing a smile when she lifts his face to look at him properly.

“I’ll go start dinner, sweetheart,” she chirps. “You all settle in upstairs. Anything you have in mind?”

“No, mom, go for it,” he says, taking her hands in his and moving them away from his face. Tim has to stare at the floor; somehow the scene seems so inherently /wrong/to him. Of course Alex has parents, and of course it makes sense that they would love him, especially when they have no idea what he’s been up to for the last couple of years. It still doesn’t settle right with Tim. Maybe it never will.

“You’re doing it again.”

Tim’s head lifts. He and Alex are alone in the room.

That’s just about the last thing that Tim wants.

“Doing what again?” Tim sighs into his hands, rubbing at his face. He doesn’t need another reason to punch Alex out today.

“You’ve been weird around me. Like you’re holding back a lot more,” Alex explains, arms crossing. He peers at Tim over his glasses, frowning deeply. “You spoke to me yesterday like I was a person and now it’s like I pushed your grandma down the stairs.”

Tim’s not going to tell. There’s no debate about that. He promised Jay. It doesn’t matter how angry he might have been with him. Besides, he truly has no urge to go telling him that he went shacking up next to Jay last night. He doesn’t see the point in spiting Jay by potentially pissing Alex off and getting Jay caught in the crossfire.

Besides, how often is it that Tim has even this little bit of power over him? Between the three of them, inside info is power.

“Nothing’s going on,” he lies through his teeth (with relish, far too much relish). “I’m just surprised your parents are as receptive as they are.”

Alex drops his arms to his sides, eyes narrowing. He’s silent, staring Tim down, as though he might get him to open his mouth if he waits long enough. If that’s the case, he’ll be standing there all night.

The sound of the front door clicking open pushes him back to life. His forceful exhale brings Tim more pleasure than he’d ever be willing to admit. He finds he can’t even hold back his smirk at Alex’s obvious frustration.

“You shouldn’t doubt me, then, I can make good decisions too sometimes,” Alex replies at last. He turns his lips up into a false smile. The ruckus at the door doesn’t stop; Jay yelps, the sudden thud of a suitcase and fluttering clothing following. Alex snorts softly, turning away from Tim. “Think we’re needed.”

He walks towards the doorway that leads to the front door—and immediately Tim jumps to his feet. Alex whips his head around, catching Tim by the arm.

(no)

“Don’t touch me—”

“I was just going to help Jay with our stuff.”

Alex speaks sternly, his earlier frustration heating up into hostility. Tim twitches under his grip, too tight, too much contact, /especially/ from him, he can stand Jay touching him, can stand Mrs. Kralie, but Alex, god, not Alex, not like this, fuck—

“Go,” Tim forces out, tugging his arm free. He stumbles back, standing straight as he can. “Go help. Gonna… go talk to your mom.”

Alex couldn’t have missed the tension in Tim’s body, tightening with each passing second of physical contact. So when he leaves the room to help Jay out— surprise, he actually does, he’s not about to slam the suitcase over the top of his skull (but he’s still not to be trusted he’s up to something he’s Alex he’s /Alex Kralie/)—

When he leaves without a word, Tim knows he’s ignoring his anger. He might have even touched Tim on purpose to put him off. The man stiffens furiously at the thought, muscles aching with tightness.

It’s not just the touching, it’s this morning, it’s Jay defending him and willingly going down the hallway with him, it’s that he’s still walking and breathing and /alive/.

And Tim is trapped in his /house/ now. He could leave, could go and starve to death, but he has to stay, for Jay, stubborn stupid Jay, so desperate to find goodness in the people that he has left that he’s imagining such a thing still exists within Alex.

Talking be damned. Tim needs a smoke, and he knows this is a smoker’s household. There’s a pack on the coffee table, not his brand but it’ll do.

He takes it into his pocket, wondering if he can convince Alex’s father that his son stole them.


	12. Chapter 12

Alex remembers. He remembers the tiny shaking body in his arms, the way the bed sank under their combined weight, how his breath came in short helpless puffs at his neck.

He was drunk. But he wasn’t /that/ drunk.

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what Jay’s doing. The whole ‘suddenly good at communication’ thing seems to be over now, and of course it would be right as Alex wants answers the most. Is it possible to become a selective amnesiac? ‘Oh, shit, I forgot what it’s like to talk about feelings all of a sudden, sorry, talk to Tim or something’.

Which he would, if Tim wasn’t being inherently Tim-ish.

Being back in his bedroom soaking up the nostalgia isn’t doing much to calm the furious storm in his chest. Old curling posters of bands he doesn’t care about anymore, clothes that don’t fit his lanky starved form anymore, a bed that barely takes his elongated legs into the equation when he goes to lie down on it— and nothing about it makes him want to go and talk reasonably to Jay about this, instead of grabbing him and shaking the answers from his stupid mouth.

There’s a single bottle of vodka he kept hidden under the bed that his parents somehow never found. He could be drinking it. But he’s not. Shit, he doesn’t even feel like drinking, maybe Jay got him sick with whatever’s got him throwing up in the bathroom right now (that’s the benefit of having a house with thin walls; nobody can have any secrets).

He listens to the man until he’s finished up, cursing to himself and running the sink. Eventually, he leaves the bathroom and his footsteps carry over into the guest room down the hall.

As much as Alex wants to talk to him, he has no idea what he’d say.

‘I liked this cuddling thing, but I’d rather not do that again when I’m the last person that deserves you.’

‘So, did we make this leap over from would-be murderer to boyfriend, or?’

‘Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and your emotional fucking around.’

All of them leave something to be desired. He’d love to tell Jay to go fuck himself for awakening this strangeness within him, but he doesn’t think that it’d get them anywhere anytime soon.

But really. How can Jay go from being terrified of even breathing the same air as him, then tugging him into bed and whispering gratefully for his presence?

“That’s easy,” Alex mutters aloud to himself, kicking the bottle of vodka underneath his bed. Indeed, it was easy enough; it’s that Thing, with its mind-twisting abilities. It doesn’t need to be around to fuck around with the three of them. 

He worries, wonders if it’s possible that it’s still around, hanging over Jay’s shoulder and manipulating his every move, but if that’s the case, he’s got to question why it’s leaving him alone.

Too many questions, too much time spent wondering, it can do things to a man. Alex pulls his phone from his pockets, ignoring the new mass of messages his father left over the past few hours. Last he saw, Jay and Tim huddled away into the guest bedroom together. He’s not going to go bursting in there and deal with Tim, who is so very obviously on Jay’s side and would give him shit for acting intimate with Jay in any way.

So, he texts him instead for the sake of his sanity.

AK-Director: Hey. Barf-face. We need to talk.

Hornetssuck: No we don’t. I’m going to bed.

AK-Director: Oh no you don’t. Come in here. Without Tim.

Hornetssuck: Tim would kill me.

AK-Director: That’s what he expects /me/ to do.

Hornetssuck: Exactly.

AK-Director: For fuck’s sake, Jay. I know you’re pretending last night didn’t happen. It’s getting on my fucking nerves.

Hornetssuck: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

AK-Director: Huff-puff.

Hornetssuck: Fuck you. I don’t want to talk about this.

AK-Director: Well, guess what, kiddo, we do things we don’t want to do sometimes.

Hornetssuck: I don’t know what to tell you.

AK-Director: Figure it out. Come in here or I’m kicking you out of the house.

Alex is bluffing; he’d never kick Jay out, not when he took him in during his time of need.

But his threat seems to work anyway. He clicks his phone shut with a small grin at the sound of a door opening in the hall. Jay’s shadow throws itself over the threshold before the man himself shows up, though Alex could have gone by his shadow alone to see that this is the last place he wants to be. He isn’t sure Jay could look more pathetic if he tried.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks miserably. He drifts in the doorway, like he wants to hide but is being held back by the scruff. Alex’s knuckles ache. It’d feel good to strike them against those gaunt cheekbones right about now.

“Well, for one thing, it’s not what I want you to say,” Alex says sternly, rising from his chair by the window and going to stand by the bed. He stuffs his fists into his pockets, trying to hide them from the shaky man across from him. “It’s what I need to hear from you. Which is, why the hell did you beg me to climb into bed with you like that?”

Jay gives him a weak shrug. Not good enough. He shrinks from Alex’s unmoving stare, but he doesn’t speak, as though he could avoid the inevitable by staying quiet. That’s fine. Alex is willing to stand there all night. He doesn’t need sleep.

“…Why does it matter?” Jay huffs, stepping into the bedroom properly and shutting the door behind him. Alex has a feeling that Tim’s asleep if Jay’s managed to make it this far without a chaperone sniffing around over his shoulder. “I was delirious and half asleep and you were drunk. We weren’t in our heads.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t /happen/ though, Jay.”

(Alex isn’t certain he wants the night to have had a special meaning, any underlying messages to be picked at, analyzed, stared at a little too closely. But it’s all he knows. Codes, secret images, quiet warped whispers? These past years, everything has had meaning to it, nothing simply /happened/.)

(Jay should know that. Nothing just happens between them.)

The man stays silent, choosing instead to shuffle his feet and stare at them as though they’re suddenly more important than the situation at hand. Alex takes a step forward— then remembers, sees the flash of a boy shaking in his bed and begging him to get out of his room.

He stays where he is.

“Okay. Here’s what I know,” Alex says, closing his eyes. He thinks to himself, lists it out. “You had a nightmare. It was about me. You woke up, saw me, and for whatever reason, thought to yourself that I’d be a good source of comfort, when only a few days before you were flinching away from me, and a couple days before /that/, you were acting like we’re friends. I got in bed with you, we… did what we did, and, that’s it. Am I right about all that? I’ve got this right?”

Jay nods without hesitance. Thank god.

“Okay,” Alex continues, lifting his head and fixing his eyes upon Jay. “You realize then how much of a mindfuck that all is? I mean. I get it, you freaking out sometimes. And I’m sorry I can’t fix it. I really am. But still.”

(Jay twitches then. His face softens, like he might cry. Alex mentally begs him to do anything but that.)

“I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest,” Jay murmurs apologetically. He approaches the bed, perching at the edge. His spine juts out through his shirt, long and sickly. “I was kind of putting too much energy in /not/ talking about this to think about what I was doing. Which is pretty shitty of me.”

“Kind of is shitty,” Alex agrees, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut the moment he opened it. Jay’s shoulders shake with laughter, though, so he has a feeling Jay doesn’t mind.

“You’re not much better, but I’m not going to rub that in your face. There’s no point,” Jay shrugs. “But I’m not lying when I say I really don’t know why I did what I did.”

He looks to Alex with shiny blue eyes, staring for so long, as though memorizing this Alex, the one that stands before him instead of the one that haunts his memories.

“I know that I missed you. The real you,” he says, growing quieter with each word. His nails dig into the sheets, bunching them, leaving tiny waves behind. Alex makes the same sort of waves, though they’re embedded within his palms as he clenches his fists ever tighter. “…Maybe I missed you more than I realized.”

There it is.

It’s laid out between them, raw and bloody and terrifying, this monster of a feeling. A feeling that has no right to exist, and they both know it.

Alex blinks fast, trying to chase away the sudden lightheadedness.

“I-it’s just a thought,” Jay blurts out defensively. He’s wringing his hands in front of himself, picking at the skin. He’d crawl right on out of it if he could. “This morning, I was telling Tim— and myself, I guess— that it was an accident, and maybe it was, but I must’ve still done it for a reason.”

Quiet again. Alex can’t speak, and Jay won’t move. He glances hopefully toward the door.

(god don’t cry)

He breathes in deep. It feels like there isn’t enough room in his lungs.

“As much as I’m wringing you for an answer, I still don’t know why I let myself crawl in with you, when I think about it logically,” Alex manages through the nails in his throat. He coughs, stopping the moment he remembers coughing is the least Okay Thing he could be doing. “You were honest, so I oughta be honest and say I did it because it felt right.”

Now he can’t look at Jay. He can’t look at anything but the ceiling. It’s safe there, no chance of brushing his eyes across the other man and seeing if his eyes have gotten any shinier.

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been so damn /nice/ to me the last few weeks. Maybe I missed you too. I don’t know. I do know that it felt good, though, and… and in the end, regardless of things that feel good, all I really want is that you keep on communicating with me instead of hiding shit, especially shit like this. Because that gets me extremely jumpy. Okay?”

Alex lets out a long breath.

He’d be proud of himself for getting it all out so neatly if it weren’t all a mysterious mess of ‘I don’t know why it happened so we can’t answer any of our question but it was a good thing’.

Jay kicks out at the floor, running his sock feet back and forth over the carpet. Alex brings himself to look at him for a second or two. Long enough to see the red spreading across his gaunt cheeks.

“This is really weird and I don’t think I’ll ever understand it,” Jay murmurs under his breath, reaching up to scratch through his hair with far too much force. Alex snorts.

“You and me both.”

When the man perched upon his bed fails to find anything else to say, Alex sighs and approaches him. He reaches out, wanting to touch him (and he’ll do it, if Jay is okay with it, because he wants to, because he thinks it’ll feel good to touch another human being, especially one as foolishly forgiving as Jay is).

Jay jumps, but he doesn’t pull away from the fingers running across his shoulder.

He’s solid, solid and human and there.

God, he was right. It does feel good.

“Go to bed,” Alex orders, squeezing. Still solid. Bone, skin, underneath thin fabric that shouldn’t legally be considered a shirt. “And get changed. It’s going down into the twenties tonight.”

The goosebumps on Jay’s arms might be from the mentioned cold. But Alex doesn’t think so.

Jay lifts a hand, reaching towards his. His fingers tingle with anticipation—

Or, rather, static shock. Alex yelps and pulls his hand away. Sock feet against a rug. Figures.

“I promise that wasn’t on purpose,” Jay says, and if Alex isn’t mistaken, he’s actually smiling a bit.

(Heat, heat spreading from his chest to his fingertips. He wants to touch again. Jay is real.)

“Even if it wasn’t, you’re still not staying in my room tonight.”

“Oh, darn,” Jay teases one last time, rising from the bed. He pauses before going to the door, reaches to him, and Alex thinks he’s going to be shocked again. But he hesitates too long, his hand dropping away before it goes to rest on his elbow.

Jay’s not even out the door by the time Alex flops back onto his mattress, face flushed (goddammit he’s almost twenty six and he’s blushing over somebody he almost murdered).

Solving a threat-riddled code would be less painful than thinking about being a little more than fond of someone like Jay.

He sighs hotly into the sheets, glasses creaking against his nose.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood, scars, not-so-implied self-harm, and mentioned attempts at suicide. Sort of.

_They say that once you give up on searching for something, it comes to you instead, like it finds the road you carved out in your quest and traverses along until it discovers that you’re standing at the very end._

_You lose the will to keep chasing after him, shortly after you post the eighty first entry. That same night, actually. You slump back into your chair, arms wrapped around yourself, providing little heat to your trembling form._

_Does it hurt?_

_God, yes. It hurts, having fought as hard as you did for him. It’s a hurt that stretches throughout your entire form, curling through your chest, extending into your arms and freezing them._

_But it’s not going to last forever. If you keep on looking for something that isn’t there, you’re going to hurt more, until it consumes you and you can’t think of anything else._

_That’s when you hear the knock at the door._

_You tell yourself it’s a bad idea to open it. Whatever’s there, it’ll disappoint you (it’s not him) or it’ll attack you (it’s what got him)._

_But by now, you could care less what happens to you._

_(For a while, you might have, just so you could keep trucking on for the sake of another human being, and this fake limb of self-love might have attached itself to you. It’s funny, how quickly it fell off once you lost the person you were fighting for.)_

_The knocking turns into furious pounding when you take a moment too long to search for the blade you’ve kept with you. That does nothing but cement your suspicions that whatever’s behind the door, it’s not to be trusted._

_Your thumb runs up and down the smooth side of the blade, ready to attack. Stepping towards the door slowly, you reach out and turn the knob-_

_Nobody is standing on the other side._

_You stare, frozen to the spot. It’s been months since you’ve had auditory hallucinations. In spite of your dwindling medication supply, you’ve been good and taken it every day. It occurs to you that maybe the effectiveness of your single dose is wavering. Just what you need when you can’t risk taking more than one pill at a time._

_Then you hear the far-off thud down the hallway._

_The flash of a yellow hoodie is all you need to set you off into a sprint, a scream ripping from your throat. It doesn’t matter if anyone hears you running or shouting after the bastard. Let them hear. Maybe then somebody will realize what he’s done. You’d give any number of things for the world to stop spinning for even a brief moment and acknowledge all the shit he’s put you and your only friend through._

_You make it out onto the streets, past the stairwell and the lobby. Sometime during the night, the overcast skies gave in and broke through into rain, unleashing a storm that falls just short of a downpour. The hooded one is still there, though, standing in the middle of the parking lot, mocking you with his obvious presence._

_“Come here, you asshole,” you spit, stomping through the deluge. Puddles splash around you, soaking your pant legs and shoes. He holds still, arms limp at his sides._

_And suddenly he’s moving again. You don’t even see him turn around, he’s that fast. Soon he’s nearly out of the parking lot, but you’re not about to lose him._

_You vaguely recognize the route he’s taking. You’ve probably driven through here before, knuckles white upon the wheel and glancing into your rearview mirror._

_But you don’t stop to assign a memory to the path. All that matters is him, catching him and sinking your knife deep into his chest, his throat, everywhere, until you’re satisfied that he’s learned his lesson._

_It happens too fast for you to be able to stop it— your feet slide ahead of you in the mud, your insides giving a sickly twist before you land upon the ground. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough to disorient you. The world whirls around before you, threatening to slip away as you gasp for breath._

_You’re being dragged by your feet— oh god you feel his hands before you see them on you, around your ankles and he’s pulling you along the forest floor, when did you get into the forest, that thing’s going to show up you can /feel/ it in the air you’ve got to get out of here forget him_

_“Let me go,” you breathe out, thrusting your knife into the too soft ground. It gives way and you’re sliding, your body is wet from mud and rain and leaves stick to your clothing, everything is out to get you and you’ve gotta get out you need to get out why can’t you /get free/_

_It hits you then, as the mud turns to stone and you’re finally released._

_You’re in front of the tunnel. He lured you to the fucking tunnel._

_“You’re out of your mind,” you manage, scrabbling to your feet. He brought you here to feed you to that thing, or whatever the fuck it does to people when it catches them at last, but— but he’s not moving._

_He stares at you, pathetic and tiny with his soaked jacket clinging to his starved form. You clutch your knife tight, brandishing it towards him, but he doesn’t even twitch. Instead, he gestures to the tunnel, waving his arm towards it as though suggesting you enter it._

_“No way,” you hiss between your teeth. The memory flashes through your mind for the shortest of moments, a memory of a camera strapped to your chest and a hand clutching onto yours, ‘Tim, Tim—!’_

_(If he wanted you dead, he would have continued dragging you and forced you inside, right?)_

_(Why is he standing there, staring, waiting?)_

_(Why does he look so defeated?)_

_There’s nothing in the tunnel, not at first glance. Your grip on the knife is so tight, it almost hurts. You desperately want to take a closer look, but every fiber of your being cries out at the very notion._

_Curiosity is what got Jay killed. Curiosity and his lingering traces of faith in other people._

_But, you’re not really fighting to go on anymore, are you?_

_That’s what pushes you to take those first couple of steps towards the tunnel. Nothing, you see nothing, of course, but—_

_But when the light (what light, where is it coming from) hits the air just right, you think you see a pair of bodies, one kneeling over the other, clinging tight to their companion’s neck._

_You tilt your head. The figures stand out more, forming details and faces. The kneeling one has long dark hair and thin limbs, though the one in their arms is even skinnier, sickly and boney. You tell yourself that your mind is playing tricks; there’s no way you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing, but it’s /there/, they’re right there, and you can hear Jessica’s voice, gentle and encouraging._

_“You’re going to be okay, you can’t die, now don’t worry…”_

_And you hear a voice, a voice you never thought you’d hear again. It calls your name, croaky and wet, as though choking back a stream of blood._

_You set off into the tunnel, running at them, running at Jessica, at /Jay/, his body shaking in her arms, and you don’t even see the looming form of the monster until it’s too late. Somebody screams, it could be you or Jay or Jessica, or even the hooded man. It stoops over the three of you, too tall to fit properly into the tunnel, but it budges its way in anyway, reaching toward you—_

_Arms wrap around you from behind. The hooded one, but, he’s talking, he’s telling you to get back, and you think you recognize his voice, but the world is spinning too fast for you to process it. The tunnel flips on itself, washing away in a rush of color and blood and rain._

_You’re in the old house, Brian’s house. It’s falling apart around all of you, Jessica is screaming and she’s hanging onto Jay like he’s a ragdoll and he’s hanging onto her, and the arms around you haven’t moved, they’re clinging tighter if anything and you think you might be sick, watching the room burn and turn to ash, but—_

_It’s not his house anymore, it’s where Seth was, where Alex took him and you’re looking the creature in its non-face, eye to eye. Water seeps into your shoes, and there’s a body in here, smelling of death and age and fuck it’s him you know it’s got to be him._

_There’s a cold presence on your chest and you realize it’s a hand, long fingers, pointed and digging into your flesh, and you’re choking on your own blood but you’re pulled back and the hooded man is yelling to you, hang on, he says, please hang on._

_Everything flashes again, you’re standing in an ashen wasteland, charred notebooks and shattered glass at your feet. You hear a cry— Jay, it’s Jay, he’s shouting about his apartment and then there is a second pair of arms surrounding you, circling your middle. You look down, and she’s hanging onto you, Jessica is at your feet and Jay is bleeding out onto your shoes. The blood flickers, unreal and why it looks like static, you’ll never know, but you can’t think about it because the faceless being is slashing out with its hand and the floor is collapsing underneath you._

_You instinctively reach and hold Jessica and Jay to your body. They don’t feel solid, but you /feel/ them, like your hands have fallen asleep._

_The floor comes back, and the room smells of blood, you’re in a room you’ve never been in yourself but you’ve seen it before through a camera’s viewfinder._

_Jay begins to tremble hard against you. He knows exactly where he is, no matter how out of it he might seem. Jessica whispers to him, says it’s going to be okay though every part of your brain is screaming that it’s anything but okay._

_The monster is in the same corner of the room, staring down at all four of them, just like it stared at Jay in what you thought were his last moments. The similarities must be too much for Jay, because he points to it and begins to let out these terrible sobs, begging Tim to make it go away, please, make it go away, it’s going to get him if he doesn’t do something, please, do /something/—_

_It reaches out to you._

_A flurry of movement, and you’re stumbling, barely keeping your hold on the pair seated at your feet, and the hooded man is suddenly in front of the three of you, arms out and hood down and mask gone and it’s your best friend, your long dead best friend._

_You don’t even have time to speak before the creature’s claws sink into his chest and pull._

_You’re screaming Brian’s name, and he looks back at you one last time, giving you that smile he always reserved for you. You fall to your knees, and he’s falling too, but there’s no chance of him getting up now, not with the gaping bloody hole within his torso._

_Something glows, a tiny ball-like object, setting yellow light off around the room, bouncing off of the walls. The thing jerks, like it’s startled, and its head whips around, trying to watch the orb as it moves, and— it slams into its chest, knocking it into the wall, its letting out the most inhuman noise but you know it’s in pain, it’s screaming in pain. It’s such an odd thought; pain is too human a feeling for it to have._

_“You’ve gotta get out of here, Tim.”_

_Jessica. You nearly forgot she was here. You look down at her, tears blurring her image._

_“Tim, please,” she begs, pushing at your shoulders. “We did this to help you and Jay. You won’t have to worry anymore. Just, please, get up and go, take Jay with you, /go/.”_

_The desperation in her voice is the only thing that could possibly push you to move now. Your body creaks, resisting your attempt to stand up, but you manage it, with shaky knees and lungs that can’t get a full breath of air._

_You reach down, and pull Jay up to your chest. He easily fits into your arms, weightless and broken. The blue eyes you never thought you’d look into again catch yours, huge and frightened._

_That’s the last push you need._

_You’re kicking through the door and you think you see Jessica leaping toward the monster, her hands outstretched as though to pin it in place. It roars, your head fit to burst from how fucking /loud/ it is but you keep running, you will your aching legs to keep you moving._

_Jay’s clutching at your shoulders and coughing, he’s still bleeding everywhere but he’s still /here/, there’s a chance._

_Brian and Jessica gave you a second chance with him._

_And this time, you’re not going to fuck it up._

—

“Let it all out… there you go.”

Tim runs his hand up and down Jay’s back. The kneeling man retches, his shoulders shuddering from the force.

So much for a nice filling breakfast. Mrs. Kralie is a great cook, but apparently Jay’s stomach doesn’t care about the quality of the meal its rejecting. 

“I hate this,” Jay whines between gasps, closing his eyes and propping his elbows up on the toilet seat. Tim backs up, uncertain if he’s really finished being sick, but he doesn’t leave Jay’s side. “I thought I was done being sick when we got away from that thing.”

“I dunno, Jay, the old house wasn’t exactly the cleanest place,” Tim says, shrugging. “You could have gotten something from the air there.”

(Tim knows better than that. But he’s not going to be the one to scare Jay while he’s clinging to the toilet and heaving to the point of tears.)

“I just want to eat,” Jay sighs, sitting back on his hands. He swipes his sleeve across his mouth, panting quietly. “I can’t eat anything without it coming back up now. I just thought I was anxious or something, back at the hotel, but—”

“Stop worrying about it, you’ll just make yourself sick again.”

Jay nods weakly in agreement. He shuffles backward until he’s leaning against the bathroom wall.

“I wish this would just kill me already. This is getting out of hand.”

It’s said so casually, Tim knows that Jay doesn’t mean it that way. He’s said the same thing during his sick fits back in the hospital, but he didn’t necessarily mean it. Not every time.

Still. He doesn’t stop himself from dropping to his knees and gripping the other man by the chin, forcibly turning his head so he’s looking back at him.

“You don’t say shit like that. Not around me.”

“But I—”

“I know what you meant,” Tim huffs, letting go of him. “But, if you talk like that around me again…”

He trails off, hoping Jay gets the point. The man stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Tim doesn’t return his gaze; he hates to touch Jay like that but sometimes it feels like it’s the only way to get him to listen.

“…I’m sorry.”

Tim plunks down beside him, exhaling hard through his nose. There’s nothing that makes him feel guiltier than Jay insisting on acting pathetic. He wants to drown himself in the toilet.

“Whatever. It’s not like you can actually die.”

Tim watches from the corner of his eye as Jay instinctively lifts a hand to his stomach, rubbing at the scar that hides beneath his shirt. The image of his hand laying on top of Jay’s flashes through his mind. He has to stiffen his arm to keep it where it is.

“Do you ever wonder why that is?” Jay asks softly, pressing on the scar. “I… I think it’s because we were near that thing for so long. It’s all I can think of that the three of us have in common.”

(Tim has more than thought about it. He’s tested it, careless and cruel towards his body, sent blood streaming along his neck and arms and pills chasing down his throat. Those painful days he spent searching for Jay, that knife was often used upon himself.)

(He ought to be dead. But no matter how hard he tried— well, there he sits now.)

(With Jay seated beside him, he supposes that’s a good thing.)

“That’s the only thing I can think of,” Tim replies, stroking his fingers along the lines within his arms. “Except it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, considering it’s pretty obvious that thing didn’t have any good intentions.”

Jay squirms quietly, tugging on his shirt as though that might hide his scar away in a more permanent fashion.

“Who knows. Maybe it thought we didn’t want to be alive and figured it was the best way to fuck with us.”

Tim shrugs. However much that might make sense, he didn’t think they’d ever have a concrete answer. And if that was the case, was it really worth it wasting energy and running in circles crafting theory after unconfirmed theory?

With that, Jay bolts back up and rushes the toilet, retching again.

Tim, as always, goes to stand at his side and pat his back.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for alcoholism and a bit of blood at the end.

It seems no matter how drunk Alex gets, his kitchen is still the most unbearable place to be.

 

Hell, the whole house gives off that same feeling, like he doesn’t belong there because he isn’t the person that once wandered room to room, camera in one hand, scribbled out script in the other. That boy, he doesn’t exist.

 

And so, Alex drinks, hoping he might blur the image of his home enough that it’s like any other home he might break into for a night’s rest. If it doesn’t work, at least he’ll be drunk.

 

“Ugh. Did your mother break a bottle of vodka in here? She keeps knocking the booze out of the cabinet lately, wouldn’t be surprised…”

 

Alex grits his teeth at the sound of his father’s voice. He looks over his cup of coffee, or rather, his cup of brandy with a hint of coffee. After barging in without so much as a warning, he’s surprised that his father can bear to talk to him. To be honest, he wishes that he was a fan of the old silent treatment. Alex isn’t awake enough to pretend he actually wants to be in his dad’s presence.

 

(how is he supposed to say to his parents that he can’t bear to look them in the eye without telling them the reason why? then /they/ wouldn’t be able to look at him at all.)

 

(maybe he ought to just spit it out, right now, so his dad doesn’t think he was running around scoring drugs or anything for the past couple of years. yes, murdering people while trapped in his own body, that’s much better than running around homeless while putting strange things up his nose.)

 

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” he says, pulling his jacket closer around his body.

 

His dad grunts in response, but he doesn’t question him any further. He drifts around the kitchen, opening one cabinet after the other and closing them as loudly as possible. Alex distracts himself, downing his cup in an attempt to chase off the headache forming between his temples.

 

Seeing the chance to slip away without a word, he puts the cup down, slides his chair out, and stands.

 

He’s too slow. His father drops into the seat across from him and clears his throat.

 

“We need to talk about your friends. In a more civilized manner than last night.”

 

Cursing inwardly, Alex falls back into his seat. Civilized? What’s that? That thing where if your son returns home begging for help, you don’t scream at him like he’s a criminal for being unable to keep in contact for the past couple months?

 

(goddammit he left a message every day for most of those years spent in solitude, powering through the buzzing of his brain just to keep his parents happy-- wasn’t that enough?)

 

“Why? Are they causing problems already?” Alex asks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

 

“Well… no,” the older man replies with a faint shrug, placing his hands out onto the table and folding them. “But you see, your mother and I aren’t exactly equipped to be living with not only one, but three young men. Not enough food in the house and all.”

 

“Whatever, I can make them go shopping for more,” Alex shrugs back, pushing out of his chair again. “No big deal. Listen, I got things to do--”

 

“This is serious, Alex.”

 

The standing man frowns at the grey tile floor. And here he thought it was one of those trivial matters, like lying or keeping secrets from one’s family.

 

“Is it now?”

 

“How long do your friends plan on staying here? You don’t expect them to stay here without paying /rent/, at least? It’s not like your mom and I even know these boys, who knows what they’ll get up to, especially since we have no idea where you met them or what you three were doing together before you got here--”

 

“You don’t listen, do you?” Alex huffs, turning his eyes to the ceiling. It’s not much different from the sight of the floor; it swims too, writhing this way and that. “I told you they’re from school and they’re hanging out with me for a bit.”

 

“And we’re supposed to believe you just like that when you’re being so damn secretive?”

 

Alex doesn’t know what he would’ve said if his mother hadn’t come into the kitchen then. ‘If you can’t trust your own son, then you can go fuck yourself’ sounds about right. It doesn’t matter how right his father is to distrust him.

 

It still hurts.

 

(he’s just trying to protect him why can’t he realize that and leave well enough alone goddammit)

 

He sidesteps out of the room, tripping over a threshold he had forgotten was there and barely avoiding his mother’s shoulder. His parents may be out of sight, but that doesn’t save him the pain of hearing them babble at each other about him, as if he’s not out of earshot.

 

“What did you say to him now, Sean?”

 

“Tina, the boy’s up to something, I just know it.”

 

“You always thought he was out to cause trouble growing up. No wonder he’s acting so surly, he must feel like he’s walking on eggshells around you…”

 

Alex makes sure to stomp as loudly as he can on the way up the staircase. It takes too much restraint to resist knocking down the portrait hanging on the wall of his dad in uniform. Rules, rules, rules. That’s what he’s all about, and not much else.

 

Oh, and money, that too, he nearly forgot about that. Of course, no wonder he was sniffing Alex out, he wanted to make sure Alex knew he expected pay for providing his supposed drug addict friends with shelter.

 

Rent, he said, like he assumed they had cash in the first place. He can see his dad’s face already, going red; what did Alex mean, these boys didn’t have /jobs/? They’re adults, how don’t they have /jobs/?!

 

(well, the whole on-the-run lifestyle might have contributed to that, not to mention a couple of other things, like monsters chasing them and making certain that their lives were hell, but Alex won’t get into that.)

 

He pauses in the hallway, standing between bedrooms. His forehead rests against the wall--

 

(and is that a new paintjob? why did he assume that the entire house would be the same when he got back? maybe he’s stupider than he gives himself credit for.)

 

Even breathing aggravates the headache settling in the middle of his skull. Alex presses his head harder to the wall, hoping the pressure might relieve it.

 

The real pressure lies in figuring out how to get the cash for the supposed rent his dad wants to impose on his unfortunate guests. No way they’re getting jobs anytime soon. Not soon enough for his dad’s liking, anyway. Besides, he doubts anyone around here is looking for employees that still hallucinate in their downtime or drink their weight in whatever might be lying around.

 

Tim, maybe. Funny, how he’s the one most eligible for a job out of the three of them now.

 

Alex closes his eyes, blocking out the garish bright green wall.

 

He does have his last resort.

 

It’s his last resort for a reason, though. He shouldn’t even have it. But it’s a fairly old model, and maybe he could fetch a nice price for it and haggle with his dad about the rent, so it’d hold them over for a little while--

 

“Wow. You smell like a fucking bar.”

 

For once, Alex is relieved to hear Tim’s voice. He’d rather deal with him than his parents while the world is shaking beneath his feet.

 

He turns away from the wall and leans against it instead. Tim stands across from him in the doorway of the guest bedroom. Something about him isn’t quite the same but maybe it’s just because Alex is seeing two of him at the same time.

 

“I’ll smell however I’d like to smell, thank you,” Alex says politely as he possibly can. He must slur his words or something, because Tim smirks at him and, god, what was it Jay said again? Don’t hit Tim unless it’s /absolutely/ necessary? Then again, this is something he could help him out with… “Actually, good thing you finally got out of bed. Listen, come with me a sec.”

 

Tim’s eyebrows vanish behind his bangs.

 

“What for?”

 

“Favor,” Alex replies vaguely before wandering into his bedroom. He kicks a fallen band poster beneath his bed and unzips the backpack he carelessly threw onto the mattress when they first arrived. It’s been a whole day since they showed up, with the three of them only leaving the upstairs for breakfast and then immediately going back to bed afterward. At least, Tim and Jay did. Maybe Alex ought to actually sleep on his bed instead of using it as a storage space.

 

“What sort of favor could you be asking /me/ for?”

 

“Nothing much,” Alex replies nonchalantly, rifling through the bag. “Just need you to judge whether this would be worth a decent amount of money.”

 

He pulls the camera from his bag and holds it up to Tim. The other man flinches away at first-- hell, he should feel what it’s like to have it in his hands-- but his curiosity overrides his kneejerk reaction and he looks closer, squinting suspiciously.

 

“…Is that--”

 

“Stole it from your car.”

 

Tim blinks.

 

“So we’re stealing each other’s shit now.”

 

“No. Not exactly,” Alex says, pulling the camera out of the man’s reach protectively. “It’s more of a safety thing. I didn’t think you’d be giving Jay back his camera anytime soon and I figured it would come in handy one day.”

 

Tim stares at the camera, shoulders tense and hands clenched. Alex finds that if he lowers the lens so it’s pointing at the floor, he isn’t quite so jumpy.

 

“I dunno-- y-you’re asking whether it’s a good idea to sell it, right?” he asks, standing a bit straighter.

 

“I’m not asking if it’s a good idea. I’m asking if it’ll get us a decent amount of cash.”

 

“I-- well, what if it’s cursed, or something like… is this how you’ve been getting that money?”

 

Alex chews on the inside of his cheek. Nobody in this house listens to him.

 

He stuffs the camera back into the backpack and slings it over his shoulder, pushing past Tim without another word. If he’s going to ask stupid questions instead of answering his, then he’s not going to be any help. The man babbles after him, demanding to know where he’s going and just who does he think he is, selling their shit without their permission?

 

‘Their’, like he and Jay owned that camera together or something. Not that it matters. But really, Tim ought to be grateful. Alex is doing it for his and Jay’s benefit-- mostly for Jay’s, but Tim just happens to be a part of the adventure. Not like he hasn’t gone and sold a couple of his own cameras and maybe even his fucking gun to make sure they ate on those colder nights back in the old house or anything. Not to mention the extra cash that they used to get into that hotel the other night, no, that just appeared from thin air.

 

So much for repaying another person’s kindness.

 

Careless as ever, Alex slams the front door behind him and heads out into the chilly night air, trusting that the town here hasn’t changed so much that there isn’t a place for him to sell this junk.

 

(it’s then that Alex realizes what was off about Tim’s appearance.)

 

(he was wearing Jay’s shirt. it was a bit too tight on him for it to be acceptable as anything but sleepwear, but he was wearing it and that’s what makes Alex drive his fist into a brick wall.)

 

Skin scrapes off of his knuckles. He doesn’t feel it at all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Self harm implications, scar mentions, alcohol mentions

“Christ, I couldn’t figure out that shower.”

Tim towels his hair dry, rubbing thoroughly. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror propped up in the guest room, dusty and untouched for god knows how long. A part of him wishes he hadn’t; when was the last time he actually looked like himself, fed and not quite so haggard? 

Shaking his head, he chases the image from his mind and looks to Jay instead, freshly washed and drying off in the single bed. His face is still tinged a sickly green, as though he might go running back to the bathroom at any time, but he’s better than he was earlier. It’s a relief to see. Tim is pleased he’s feeling human, but a selfish part of him is more relieved to not have to play the part of a parent for Jay anymore.

“It’s weird, being in somebody’s personal shower,” Jay observes, holding out his arms. Taking the hint, Tim tosses him his towel and goes to their bags tossed in the corner of the room. He searches through them for something that’s clean enough to wear while Jay stows the towel away in their improvised laundry pile. “It feels like I’m intruding.”

“I think we are, honestly,” Tim admits, pulling out a grey shirt and sniffing at it. “But something tells me the Kralies are too polite to just kick us out. The mom is, anyway.” 

He slips into the shirt, though not with as much ease as he expected. Hearing a giggle from behind him, he turns and sees Jay covering his mouth. 

(what an odd sound, laughter; how long until it’s something that’s part of their everyday lives again?)

“Sorry,” he says quickly, bowing his head. “I don’t know how my shirt ended up in your bag.”

Tim runs his hands down the front of the shirt. It’s not that it doesn’t fit him, but it definitely could fit better around the arms and stomach.

“It’s fine,” Tim shrugs. A clean shirt’s a clean shirt.

(besides, if it can get /Jay/ to laugh...)

“I think we should try to pay them back, clean for them or something,” Jay suggests, inching to the side of the bed to let his legs rest off the edge. “I’ve thought about it and I hate to say it, but I don’t think any employer is going to hire me at this point, so it’s not like I can do rent or anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t think running around for a couple years with a camera can be really shown off as experience,” Tim says, joining Jay on the bed. “Besides, the footage would put any sane employer off.”

Jay makes a noise that could pass for a snort, but it’s too sad for it to count as such. 

The two sit in silence, as they’ve been doing since they first arrived. It would be disconcerting if they weren’t used to it; Jay never spoke much during the long nights spent trapped in their cars and in the filthy motels. Tim tried to talk out of nervous habit, his way of proving to others that he’s as normal as they are, and Jay would listen, but he couldn’t keep the one-sided conversation flowing forever.

Silence is comfortable, anyway, especially now that Tim has realized how ridiculous it is to try to prove anything to Jay when he’s about as fucked over as he is now. Comfort in sharing the same madness, he supposes.

Still. Tim is used to being the one to speak up first. So when Jay clears his throat and gently nudges at his shoulder for his attention, it’s a bit of a surprise. 

“I thought I was getting better,” Jay begins, wringing his hands out. He looks off into some point in space, still choosing his words. “Back at the house we were staying in. I really did.”

Something cold and hard settles into Tim’s stomach. He nods, unsure what to say.

“I might’ve been-- no, I was kidding myself,” Jay confesses, sitting up straight and looking to Tim with big eyes, jaw clenched tight. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble with this, y’know, thing going on with me, I feel like with all the trouble I already caused I don’t have any room to start more.”

‘Thing’. Tim thinks he preferred referring to what’s going on as Jay being sick. It’s the truth: he’s sick after fighting for so long. 

“You’ve got a right to your feelings,” Tim interrupts, fighting back the eerie memory of his own doctor saying the exact same thing to him. He speaks sternly, ignoring Jay’s doubtful frown. “It’s not going to do you any good shoving it all down just because you gave me some issues in the past.”

“S-Still,” Jay stammers, shrugging weakly. “I made myself push it down, working on that house and paying attention to everything but myself, so when it all came out, I suppose it was even more troublesome, and...”

The man lets out a harsh exhale, roughly running his hands through his drying hair. It stands up, fuzzy and endearing.

“What I’m saying is, you’ve been amazing, looking after me like this when you really don’t have to. I guess I’m trying to say thanks.”

Tim can’t look at him now. He turns his gaze to that same spot in space that Jay had been fixed upon, trying to find the right way to respond.

He clears his throat, and he extends a hand to Jay’s knee, squeezing gently. 

(he touches him more lately, touches him like he never touched anybody else)

(he doesn’t want to think too deeply into it.)

“You mean quite a bit to me now, Jay.”

(too much, more than he wants to admit)

“Of course I’m going to help you out when you’re sick. You and I, we, well, we’re partners. We’ve been partners for a while now and I don’t see any reason for that to stop. And partners take care of each other.”

(he doesn’t speak of the terror that comes at the thought of losing Jay, to himself, to the wound that once nearly bled away his life)

(doesn’t speak of the drive that this terror gives him)

(doesn’t have the strength to speak of it)

(it’s too much.)

Jay stares at Tim’s hand, oblivious to the loudness inside the man.

The faint smile that spreads upon Jay’s lips quiets the noise inside Tim, just enough that he can smile too.

“Thank you.”

Tim nods, and leaves it at that. He doesn’t want to keep speaking. There’s too much that could be said, and too little of it would lead to anything good.

He overthinks it when he takes his hand away. Can’t do it too fast, but can’t keep hanging on either; that’d send the wrong message, wouldn’t it? But if he does move he doesn’t want Jay to think he’s repulsed by him. No, if anything, he’s--

Startled, he’s definitely startled. Jay jumps beneath him, resembling a frightened cat. Tim isn’t much better. They both stare at the door, listening to the pounding of the footsteps just outside of it.

“I guess Alex is awake.”

Awake, indeed. Tim had heard him talking downstairs with his father and thought nothing of it. 

“I saw him go downstairs with a bottle of something earlier,” Jay says a bit too casually. He shifts around behind Tim uncomfortably, pulling his legs back up onto the bed. “I don’t think he’s even sobered up from the other night.”

Tim chews at the inside of his cheek. 

How is it that Alex hasn’t run out of drink yet? It’s as though he’s got a secret stash hidden everywhere he goes. A heavy dose of annoyance settles in Tim at the thought of Alex using the money he got off of selling their stuff to buy more beer, vodka, whatever suited him best. He doesn’t mention this to Jay; Tim doesn’t have the energy for the inevitable confrontation it would initiate.

“It scares me. Especially when I’ve seen his arms and legs up close.”

At first, Tim hates himself, because his mind goes to that night at the hotel when Jay and Alex’s bodies had lain so close together, close enough to explore skin if they chose. 

But the worried crease of Jay’s eyebrows tells him this has nothing to do with that.

(Tim looks to his own arms, at the faded lines.)

(If his memories are to be trusted, Tim saw the same marks on Alex during the flashes of skin that came of sleeves and pants sliding up slightly in mid-fight, a fist raising or a knee coming up for a strike.)

“It-- it scares me. Because it’s basically the same thing, in a way. Pushing your body beyond its limits.”

Jay’s voice cracks. Tim looks at him for a long moment; he wouldn’t tell Tim this without a good reason. He’s smart enough to know not to bring Alex up unless it’s completely necessary.

It’s like he expects Tim to do something about him.

The stomping has stopped, and Tim is fairly certain that’s Alex’s shadow casting itself underneath the door. A bitter part of him suggests sending Jay out there, since they’re such good friends, but Tim reigns it in for now.

“I’ll see what he wants; I got this.”

He rises off of the bed, dusting off his front. Jay reaches out for him, fingers brushing over the back of his shirt.

“Thank you.”

Tim huffs. Warm tingles ride up his spine from where Jay touched him.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t.”

\--

Though Tim isn’t one to rave on and on about the beauty of nature, even he has to admit that the area surrounding the Kralie home is pleasing to the eye. 

He stands at a spot just beyond the backyard of the house. The grass is soft under his feet, and it’s as though humanity forgot to add its fumes-and-bricks footprint to this particular part of town. There is just enough space between the trees that Tim doesn’t feel the urge to move as fast as possible, lest one of the oaks or firs reveal themselves to be something far more dangerous.

A slightly shallow river cuts through the ground here. Tim made sure to come here instead of pouring the various smelly liquids out in the Kralies’ sink. There’d be too many questions asked. If the parents notice that certain bottles have gone missing from the cabinets, he and Jay will play innocent-- and Alex will too, he’s sure. 

The bottles go floating away downstream, bobbing up and down. It doesn’t take long for them to drift out of sight.

Tim watches with faint interest, damp hands in his pockets. He wouldn’t have felt guilty for doing this in the first place, but after finding out that Alex took Jay’s camera for himself, he definitely takes some sort of pleasure in knowing how much this will fuck with him.

Besides, it’s not as though he needs this shit.

(Tim has to tell himself he’s doing it for his and Jay’s sake. A drunk Alex is a clumsy, stupid, violent Alex. It’s hard enough dealing with Alex when he’s sober. And Jay doesn’t need to be worrying about anybody but himself right now.)

(But he does have to say, he might feel bad for Alex. Just the slightest bit.)

(Call it empathy for someone who has gone through the same bullshit.)

Nobody should have to fight back against their own bodies while waging a war inside of their heads.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for alcohol consumption discussed and also uh drunken Alex.

Some noise rattles Jay’s vision, his skull. It’s not that loud, but to him, bleary-eyed and shaky, it is. He startles, bolting upright and clutching the sheets to his chest. 

A door, he realizes after a moment of panting, it’s a car door. His limbs refuse to cooperate in his efforts to squirm out of bed. The sheets go with him when he manages to fall out of bed, and they drag behind him as he stumbles his way over to the window. Rubbing a circle through the dust, he peers outside at the pair of cars parked in front of the house.

Alex is out there, counting through a wad of bills. He walks away from Tim’s car, frowning to himself. 

How long was he out?

Jay returns to the bed, creeping across the mattress. He sheds the blankets off of his body, leaving them in a rumpled pile. Peeking over the edge of the bed, he sees Tim on the floor, just as he was the last time they were asleep.

He stinks. Waves of an all too familiar stench roll over Jay, prompting him to cover his nose. He can’t understand why, though; Tim has no reason to go diving into the vodka and gin and whatever else it is that Alex has been packing away. 

It’s not worth worrying about while Tim is asleep and can’t give Jay any answers. Instead, Jay focuses on the outstretched arm he’s laying his head on, his phone slipping out from between his fingers. 

Reaching out, Jay carefully pries it from his grip, keeping one eye on the man’s flickering expression all the while. When Tim doesn’t jerk out of his slumber to scold him, Jay sits back up and switches the phone back on, wincing at the lively glow of the screen.

4:32 AM. 

He slept through his whole first day in Alex’s childhood home. At least, he slept through most of it, with his morning spent briefly in the kitchen and then the rest of it in front of the toilet. 

Swearing under his breath, Jay sinks against the mattress, a dull ache settling between his eyes. Sick or not, he hates how useless he’s being. Regardless of what Mrs. Kralie might have said to him over breakfast, surely there’s something around the house that he could be doing.

Jay can’t tell if it’s because he feels indebted to the Kralies for taking him in or if he’s fighting for something to distract him from the thundering in his brain. The real question is whether his body would allow him the privilege of even walking to perform errands.

He prays silently that this isn’t going to be a ‘forever’ thing, that he’s not going to be anchored down against his will for the rest of time. As far as he can tell, there’s no way out of this existence, so he’s stuck with whatever he’s got for only-god-knows-how-long.

Right now, Immortality doesn’t look nearly as good as an immune system crafted of steel and diamond.

The front door slams shut, shaking the house. Jay flinches at the sound, wincing before cautiously looking over to Tim, gauging whether that woke him or not. He shifts around against the pillows, murmuring to nobody in particular, but he lays still after that.

Sighing in relief, Jay puts his head back to his own pillows. He lets his eye slip shut, and he thinks he could fall back asleep, can feel it beyond his reach, but.

But those footsteps, they’re awful heavy and loud, though not as loud as the door ripping open.

“Who did it? Who fucking did it?”

Jay blinks the drifting dots from his vision and lifts his head. Alex stands at the door, chest heaving and glasses sliding down his nose. He reeks worse than Tim; there’s no question as to where he’s been for most of the night. Holding the sheets to his nose, Jay sits up, causing the bed to creak and pull Alex’s attention to him.

“Was it you?” he spits between grit teeth, stomping up to the foot of the bed and gripping the blankets within his tight fists. Jay shakes his head quickly, heart juddering fast. 

“I-I dunno,” he stammers, shuffling backwards, out of Alex’s reach. The blankets are stretched taut between them, further tearing the rips already set into the fabric. “I’ve been sleeping this whole time, I don’t know what you’re talking about--”

“Oh, whatever, of course it’s not you,” Alex growls before releasing the sheets. He turns away from Jay and faces the man upon the floor. Tim rubs at his eyes irritably, his hair sticking up in every direction. The sheets are torn from his body, revealing him to be only in his boxers and shirt and, fuck, Jay looks away, a mixture of confused and flustered. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Tim forces through a croaky throat, holding his bared legs to his chest. “It’s-- the sun’s not even up yet and you’re throwing a tantrum already, what the hell do you want?”

“You know exactly what you did,” Alex hisses. He tosses the sheets back into Tim’s face-- he balks, becoming tangled and struggling to get free. “I can smell it on you. Why? Is it because of the camera? Are you that bitter? I’m just trying to keep you two safe here, and-- and this is the thanks I fucking get!”

Jay’s head pounds harder with each booming word. Cameras, booze, safety, it’s all going in a wild whirlwind in his head and going out his ears. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a nervous cough. 

(he can’t concentrate not when Alex is like this it’s impossible goddammit he has to cling onto reality but his sleepy mind is vulnerable hecanbarelyhangon)

“Okay, yeah, you caught me, I knew you would,” Tim shoots back once he’s free of the sheets. He tosses them aside, then pushes himself to stand, arms crossing as he faces the taller man. “But you know what, I don’t care! As far as I’m concerned, it’s for your own good. I bet you went out with whatever money you got and wasted half of it on booze! You’ve got a problem!”

That sets something off in Alex, and he starts /laughing/. It’s such an unnatural sound to Jay’s ears, frightening and sharp and jagged. There’s no doubt as to whether Alex is drunk now. 

“Yeah! Right, right, for my own fucking good, you care about that now,” Alex says through shaky exhales. His shoulders heave with each breath, like he might fall any moment but sheer force of will keeps him upright. “You of all people, I believe that, totally. Not like you’re enough of an asshole to go throwing out what’s mine after I go and steal something that none of us are going to be using anymore so we can have a bit of cash, right. Right, fuck, /c’mere/--”

He moves so fast, arms out and his eyes blasted wide, and Jay barely has enough time to piece together what’s happening but he manages it, he knows Alex is going to choke Tim out and Tim knows it too, he’s backing away and about to hit the wall and then-- Jay’s on the floor, pinned down by Alex’s weight, pain rocketing up his spine from the impact. 

“Jay!”

Is that Tim or Alex calling out to him?

He can’t figure out which, the voice is hollow and far off and his ears are ringing, /bang/, he can hear the bang--

And he grips Alex’s shirt, bunches it in his fist, anchors himself to the man as he is now, the real Alex, and tugs himself back to reality.

"Leave Tim alone, I-I asked him to," Jay pushes past the bubble in his throat. "I told him to do something about the booze, a-and he did. It's my fault, not his."

The hands that came down upon Jay's shoulders are still there. Alex doesn't move, not right away. He chews away at the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed, like he wants to be angry, but he's holding back. 

(and thank god for that, Jay thinks he would’ve exploded out of his skin if the yelling had persisted any longer.)

"...For fuck's sake, Jay," Alex huffs after a moment, withdrawing away from him. He sits across from Jay and Tim, though Tim stays on his feet. Jay doesn't have to look at him to feel his tension; it's rolling off of him in waves. He's surprised he didn't rip Alex off of him the moment they hit the floor.

"Jay," Alex repeats, running his hands up his face and rubbing at his eyes. "It's-- it's none of your business. Goddammit. You would do this."

Amazing, how the way he says that manages to make Jay feel guilty. Like he was doing him a disservice in caring about him-- and how long will it be before it feels strange to acknowledge that he cares? 

"I, uh, don't know what you two mean by cameras and getting back at each other, but the booze getting thrown out, it's not a punishment," Jay insists, wanting to reach out to Alex, but he holds back, feeling Tim's eyes on him. "You reacting like this to it being gone? I know we did the right thing now. Is it really worth it to keep drinking and acting, well, crazy like this?"

"It's fucking worth it if it means not having to /think/ for a few hours."

Alex doesn't hesitate at all in his response. He speaks sharply at first, but his voice cracks just as he finishes.

Jay's never heard that from him before. It's the wavering of Alex's voice and what he says that drives away the terrified fog that'd flown into his skull.

"Thinking about what?" 

"Shit, I wonder," Alex says bitterly, sitting back on his hands, staring determinedly at the floor. "Might be the whole losing control of my body for years thing, could be trying to kill everyone I know and knowing exactly what they looked like when they died, or maybe it's the part where I was stalked for several years by something that by all rights shouldn't exist, but..."

He trails off as Jay creeps close to him on all fours and then slides his arms around him.

It's hard to be this close to him so soon after seeing him angry, but Jay refuses to let go, even when Alex weakly attempts to shrug him away. 

After a moment, he feels a hand slide up his back, careful and trembling, then it clenches around his shirt, like it's trying to keep him from running away.

Alex is surprisingly warm. It takes longer than Jay expected to gather his thoughts, the heat scrambling his words and making it difficult to get them out of his throat. 

"From what I can tell, we're all having trouble with, um, trying to forget," Jay manages. "But the silver lining in that is that we all have some idea of what the other's going through and we can help each other out that way."

Alex laughs again. Jay thinks he may be crying.

"It doesn't go away through /talking/, Jay, and w-we need fucking professionals, you know, and if we go to anyone with our issues, we're getting locked away. You know that, right?"

A warm and wet patch begins to form on Jay's shoulder. He squeezes the starved body against his tighter.

"I know that. But we've gotta try. And we're doing better than we did before because, uh, well, at least we're not trying to kill each other, right?"

Is that a laugh or a sob? Jay doesn't know but Alex doesn't pull away from him or tell him to fuck off. He hangs onto Jay like he's all he's got and he feels like he really is. 

He's okay with that.

It's then that Jay hears the faint creaking of the floorboards behind him.

He hadn't forgotten that Tim was there; some part of him had just expected Tim to speak or contribute. But Alex had captured his attention so completely that Jay didn't notice Tim had gone silent.

The man brushes past them, going for the door. Jay looks up at him, peeking over Alex's head. Tim barely spares him a second glance. He doesn't seem angry.

But he doesn't look happy or relieved or anything that might pass for positive, either.

He's gone a moment later. Jay wants to split in two, one him here for Alex and the other him going after Tim, but he's regrettably human. As human as a person can get when they've had immortality forced upon them anyway.

He buries his face in Alex's neck and breathes in.

He'll go get Tim later. Alex is willing to let himself need things right now and he needs Jay, so he'll stay.

(he can't go, not so long as he feels the tears shuddering out of the other man and onto his shoulder.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for alcohol mentions.

March 1st. 

It’s still cold out, cold enough that Tim is sitting out on the front porch of the Kralie home with a zipped up jacket. 

(too small for him; he keeps finding Jay’s clothing in his bag. he’s thankful for the cigarette between his fingers, flooding his nose and drowning out the woody scent clinging to his body.)

A harsh wind blows by every so often, the lush front lawn shivering viciously under its power. Despite the cold, Mrs. Kralie-- or as she’s asked him to call her, Christina-- has decided it’s time to get a start on her garden. He watches her with faint interest, reminded of his own mother every time she accidentally cuts her fingers and swears aloud.

“Are you sure you don’t want gloves?” Tim offers the fifth time she manages to somehow scrape her hand. He isn’t sure she hears him at first, since she keeps on swearing to herself, but she sighs after a moment and shakes her head.

“I’m fine, darlin’,” she insists, waving him off with her not-quite-as-injured hand. “The only gloves I got, they’re all torn up! Alex’s old dogs loved them so much, a bit too much. I’m okay.”

“Suit yourself,” Tim shrugs, flicking his ashes into the grass. 

It’s the most conversation he’s had all day. Jay and Alex haven’t left the bedroom, far as he knows, save for an instance the previous day where he caught Jay creeping into the kitchen and sneakily preparing a cup of coffee. He didn’t seem to realize Tim was sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper open to jobs in one hand and marker in the other.

That or Jay knew Tim wasn’t in the mood to talk to him.

He wants to go after Jay and remind him he’s human and therefore needs to eat. But that would mean facing Alex.

The man takes a puff of his cigarette and releases the smoke from his lips with a harsh sigh. He felt he did the right thing the day before in leaving the room before he did anything stupid. His conscience has been screaming at him ever since.

He should’ve said something. Something to help Alex. 

But what could he say? That he’s okay with everything he did to him and Jay, right then and there? 

Goddammit. Forgive him for not being able to believe Alex’s story of possession and loss of control right away. He wants to, he loathes the idea of Alex being in this much pain while Tim doubts him in the same way that his own parents and the /hospital/ doubted him when he was in trouble.

Still. Tim saw Jay’s videos. He saw Alex drag him back into the hell he struggled to rip himself free from, begging for help, then turn on him and shoot him down in cold blood. He lived with the broken leg that Alex gave him when he wasn’t even himself.

Forgiveness isn’t as easy for Tim as it is for Jay. 

(it doesn’t explain why Alex would hurt himself, if he was as guilty as his actions would imply.)

(is he that far gone that he would tear into his own skin and destroy his organs every night simply to convince Jay that he’s innocent?)

Tim stubs out the cigarette, not even halfway through it. Mr. Kralie has bad taste in cigarettes; these hardly taste like Tim’s usual brand. He forces himself to pocket it for the sake of not being wasteful. 

He sits up, ready to go back in and maybe look through the newspaper one last time. It’d be nice if he already had a job; he could bury himself in the work and not have to think about those two back in the bedroom, the bedroom that he and Jay were sharing. Not like Alex has his own room or anything what with this being his home.

The screen door opens then, bumping none too gently against his back.

“Oh. Shoot-- I’m sorry. I saw you out here and...”

Jay trails off, red creeping up his neck and into his face. Tim rolls his eyes and scoots over on the steps. 

“Whatever,” Tim mumbles, waiting for Jay to brush past him. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he drops onto the open spot next to him and starts to nervously tap at his knee. 

Great.

Tim stares straight ahead, determined to push down all the bullshit that he can feel fighting its way to his mouth. There’s no point in yelling at Jay for wanting to help somebody who may or may not be extremely sick. Especially when that somebody’s parent is sitting not too far away from the pair of them. Tim isn’t certain, but he has a feeling that Alex isn’t looking to drag his parents into this mess. 

“I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

Of course he does. 

“Tim.”

That doesn’t mean Tim is entirely ready to talk as well.

“Tim, please. I wanted to say sorry.”

Tim blinks, jerking his head around to stare at the other man. Jay’s curled in on himself, the portrait of miserable with his eyes watering and knees to his chest.

“/You’re/ saying sorry.”

“Well, yeah,” Jay says as though it’s obvious, sparing him a sidelong glance. “I shouldn’t have tried to drag you into that situation when I know you don’t even trust Alex. You can’t help somebody you don’t trust.”

The implication that Tim’s help is no longer expected is somewhat of a relief for Tim. He wishes Jay had thought of this a bit sooner though, preferably the night before while Alex was crying his eyes out.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have when you know how I feel about him,” Tim replies softly, looking to Jay and seeing the way he’s shivering. Cold, stressed out, maybe a combination of the two, but he’s shrugging out of the jacket that isn’t really his anyway and dropping it over Jay’s fragile form. “But you should know that while I’m not happy with you, it’s nothing to do with you, it’s-- okay, that’s. That’s a lie.”

Jay perks at that, eyes widening in fear. He clutches the coat to his body, too big on him now from his constant shrinking. Tim can’t look at him. He glances towards where Christina ought to be; she’s too involved with her vegetables.

“Okay, it’s to do with you but it’s also to do with me,” Tim huffs, mussing his hair with shaking hands. It stands up, making him feel like a troubled cockatoo. "It's-- hardly important, it's all to do with what happened at the hotel between you and him and I feel like such a shithead for letting it have any effect on how I feel about helping you or him or, whatever."

(Tim flinches away when Jay reaches out to stroke his hair back down. He can't deal with being touched so intimately, not by him, not now.)

"It's really not important, comparatively anyway," Tim mutters, shoulders sinking tiredly. "What's important is that you ought to know I do want to help. Some part of me does. But I can't let go of the past that easily, not after what he did, Jay."

"And I get that, I really do--"

(does he now, Tim thinks bitterly, nails digging into his palms. can he really get it when he so obviously forgot about the bullet in his belly the moment he saw Alex again?)

"And it's why I'm apologizing, because I knew about that and I still dragged you in, and-- never mind."

Jay shakes his head, turning his attention to his jacket and zipping it up as a blast of cold wind hits them both. Christina shrieks from over her carrots; Tim doesn't feel a thing.

"Listen. I won't lie to you anymore. I'm not sure how I feel about Alex. But, I-- just, I'm pretty sure it's not platonic. But even if it wasn't I'd still want to help him. And I'm sure if it was platonic you still wouldn't want to help him. I, uh, I just want to know you're not going to leave us because of how upset you are."

He thinks that, after all this time. Jay thinks Tim would leave him.

Jay tried to attack him several times before with varying degrees of success. He never managed to leave a single mark on Tim. Still, the intention to harm was there, and if it had been anyone else, Tim would've ripped them the fuck apart then shoved them right out of his life.

But it's Jay. He so sincerely wants to help people, it leaves him with barely any energy or life for himself. And Tim has to admire that, always has, and maybe it's why he loves him.

"You're an idiot."

He reaches out and takes Jay by the shoulder. The blue-eyed man jumps under his touch, instinctively trying to squirm away. 

The moment Tim's lips touch the top of his head, he goes completely still.

"I'm not going anywhere. If I'd wanted to, I would've left already."

Tim releases Jay's head, letting him sit upright again. Jay is suddenly frozen in place, eyes fixed upon a grassy point across the yard. 

For a moment, Tim considers getting up and letting him sit there. Maybe he'd come back and see if he's still here in a couple hours. 

"...I'm glad."

Then he speaks. Thank god.

"G-glad you aren't leaving," Jay says quietly, barely allowing himself to look at Tim. His normally chalky white face is a strangely sweet pink now. "I'd miss you."

That makes Tim honest to god smile. He gently pushes at Jay, snorting when he nearly slides off of the steps.

"I'm going to stay and make sure Alex isn't planning on starting any shit. And if he is, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to hit him," Tim says, less seriously than he would like. Jay nods, though, making no indication that he doesn't believe Tim. "Your safety and mine, that's my first priority.”

Jay nods a second time, and he manages to get to his feet without flopping onto the ground from the sheer weight of all the blood pooling in his head. 

"Y-yeah, I, uh, that's good."

He crosses his arms, hugging himself more than anything else.

"It means a lot that you want to help at all, you know."

Tim fishes the half-finished cigarette out of his pocket and slips it back between his lips, hoping that'll pass as an excuse for his lack of response. He flicks his lighter, the flame resisting against the chilly breeze.

"...I sympathize with it, the whole being robbed of control and body, y'know," Tim says eventually, watching the first puff of smoke roll away through the air. "That's why I want to help. And, hell, maybe I will, if he manages to convince me. Right now, though, just-- just give me time. Okay?"

If Jay nods any more enthusiastically, he might turn into a bobblehead.

(Tim wants to tell him he'd be helping only for Jay's sake. But that'd be a lie. After watching all the liquor trickle down the stream, he felt far too much relief; he's not just doing it for Jay anymore.)

(As much as Alex scares him, he wants him to get better. He wants Alex to be normal again because even he doesn't deserve to live with this shit.)

(That is, if he isn't lying.)

Tim thinks that Jay's going back inside, because he turns away and hops up the next two steps.

But then he feels the faint warmth of his breath in his mussed hair, and then the soft touch of lips.

The screen door slaps shut behind him, leaving him as frozen as Jay was a moment ago. If ellipses could make a sound, Tim has a feeling they'd sound like him right about now.

"Are those my husband's?"

Christina tears him from the lagging in his brain when she goes to stand beside him, dirt-covered hands on her hips and her neck sweaty in spite of the cold.

"...yeah," Tim admits guiltily, going to stub out the cigarette a second time. Christina scoffs at him and pats his head, making him feel five years old for all of two seconds.

"Oh, I don't care. He's fuckin' addicted and needs to have those taken away from him. Just look after yourself too, Tim."

Great; now he's helping /two/ Kralies break their addictions. Is it his job now or something?

Maybe if he's good enough at it, Mrs. Kralie will start to pay him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for alcohol being a big old theme in this chapter, not to mention alcohol withdrawal.

Jay’s lips are still tingling when he makes his way through the Kralie home.

He ignores it as best as he can, though it loudly persists even as he drops to sit at the top of the staircase leading to the bedrooms. 

Tim kissed him.

Rather, he pressed his mouth on his head, nowhere near his lips, but that is still technically a kiss and it’s something Jay never would have expected and he doesn’t know if it really happened or if he might be in the middle of a fever dream.

It doesn’t help that he returned the gesture out of instinct. He can’t put his finger on why his brain pushed him to do such a ridiculous thing; and worse yet, he doesn’t know why he fucking followed through.

(that’s a lie. he did it because it felt good and right. it feels good to be near Tim, to try to make him happy. but that doesn’t settle the whirlwind of questions whipping up in his brain. why does it feel good? when did it start to feel good? it’s been so long since he’s known what ‘good’ even is; how does he know he’s feeling /good/?)

He places his head in his hands. He's surrounded by all these portraits of younger Alex Kralies, watching and judging him. A flustered heat seeps into his face, shrinking away from the dozens of eyes upon him.

What a small thing to get worked up over, Jay thinks, but he can’t /not/ wonder why Tim did what he did. This is the same person that was punching him in the face and accusing him of being a psychopath not that long ago. And now, after months of nothing, no clues or subtle cues that maybe he might care more than Jay would expect--

Goddammit, maybe Jay’s just fucking oblivious. He can’t understand his own feelings when it comes to Alex, nor can he understand what he feels for Tim now that this once-comatose part of him has been shaken awake. He would be stupid enough to miss any helpful hints that Tim might have dropped for him.

Or, there weren’t any clues at all, which seems just as likely to Jay. Tim isn’t exactly going to come right out with something like that and share, not when he’s shared even bigger secrets with the world and been told he’s crazy in return. 

Jay could go back outside and demand some answers. That’s what he just did, anyway, though he wasn’t quite as intimidated by the prospect of talking to Tim earlier. No, now he’s got a hot spot on his skin right where the man’s lips had been, and he’s not going to forget about it any time soon.

For now, he’s going to do what he does-- well, not what he does best, but he certainly does it enough that he thinks he should include it on a résumé under a list of skills. He’ll put this away, categorizing the matter as trivial compared to the current situation what with the trembling man that’s lying in the guest room, and besides, who does Jay think he’s kidding? If anything, Tim pities him for being so ill and he thought a little affection might make it easier to handle.

(someone caring about him that way, what a fucking joke, ha, look at him laughing, haha)

Speaking of the one that’s waiting up on him in the guest room. 

Jay told Alex he wouldn’t be gone long, that he just needed to go talk to Tim real quick and settle some matters. Alex didn’t say anything, choosing instead to shrug and roll onto his side.

He’s not moved from the bed since Jay helped him off of the floor after Tim left them alone and laid him out on the mattress. It would scare Jay, if he didn’t know that Alex hasn’t slept since they left the hotel. 

(he can only imagine what Alex must be seeing, with the combination of booze bleeding through his system and his skin twitching from sleep deprivation.)

(is it as bad as living through what that thing makes people see? death, smoke oozing through the room, blood leaking from the walls, eyes peering out from the shadows?)

Jay shakes his head of the images. He needs to get back to the room, Alex might need him.

Slowly getting up off his spot on the steps, Jay then turns and heads down the hall, careful to tiptoe. He stops in front of the guest room and peers inside, pushing the door open bit by bit. As expected, Alex is still wrapped in the torn sheets, but his eyes are open and staring straight at the ceiling.

“Didn’t think you’d be awake,” Jay says, announcing his presence to keep from startling the man. Alex glances his way, barely shifting to get a look at him. 

“Neither did I,” Alex replies, voice croaky with-- exhaustion? Sickness? Perhaps it’s a combination of the two, with dark sleepy bruises decorating his eyes and sweat clinging to his forehead. The sight of him stirs up a hollow ache in Jay’s chest.

He has to wonder if this is what he looks like to Tim lately. 

“Do you need anything?” Jay asks softly, closing the door behind him. Alex vaguely shakes his head, laying back down against the pillows and letting out a long exhale. Jay sits on the bed at his side, hardly daring to crawl in with him. He’s been awake since Alex first wandered in here in a drunken fit, but the extra sleeping these past days has made it so Jay can tolerate staying up longer than usual.

(not to mention the couch was already taken by Tim and, well, the other options include resting in Alex’s bedroom or in the same bed as Alex. both opportunities terrify Jay in a way he can’t describe, so there he is, completely awake and totally not in need of a nap or three.)

“A new body,” Alex says dryly. He pulls an arm out from under the covers and swipes his hand across his forehead. Jay can’t help noticing his hand trembling as it comes back down. He has to ignore the urge to take his hand and hold it between his ‘til it stops shaking. It’s not that easy to calm the shaking-- and besides, it’s normal, if the quick research session online earlier is anything to go by. 

“It won’t last forever,” Jay offers as helpfully as he can. Alex scoffs, wiping at his forehead again.

“It’ll last long enough for me to wish for death.”

Jay’s hands clench in his lap, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut for the time being. He wanted to bring Alex to a hospital, but of course, Alex protested against it, saying that would mean getting his parents involved and that it’d be better to tough it out. 

All this secret-keeping from the Kralies feels inherently wrong to Jay, especially with how kind Mrs. Kralie has been to him. Nonetheless, he’s surprised that he isn’t used to it by now. 

“It means a lot to me to see you trying anyway,” he says, hoping it’ll provide some sort of encouragement. The shaking man looks up at him with bleary eyes, face softening somewhat.

“...Might as well try, if you’re determined to ‘help’ like you said,” Alex shrugs. His response is off-set by the way he winces as he struggles to sit upright. “I’m kind of unhelpable when I’m not completely myself. As myself as I can be, anyway.”

Jay allows a sad smile to pull at his lips.

“Are you doing this so you can be yourself again?” he questions with a tilted head. He thinks back to the Alex he knew, with the camera and the pouty frown, the one he misses.

(though he is sitting in front of him, in splintered fragments, but he is still /there/.)

(he must be, or Jay wouldn’t be able to bear being near him.)

“I guess,” Alex answers, pulling at the largest tear in the sheets with twitchy fingers. “If there’s a chance of being me again, I wanna take it. If I’m not going to be dying anytime soon, I might as well live as me.”

He turns his eyes upon Jay again, looking him up and down, from his ruffled hair to his wagging feet just above the floor, legs too short to reach the ground.

Jay has to look away.

“Besides, I don’t... I don’t like it. I like not having to think, yeah, but I don’t like knowing I’m still hurting people I-- I care about, to some extent, when I’m drunk and all, and, yeah. I wanted to stop hurting people ages ago. I want to stop. For you.”

The blue eyed man can’t bring himself to tear his gaze from the wooden floorboards, nails sticking out this way and that, ever broken and ever familiar to him.

The hollow ache inside him isn’t so hollow anymore. It’s hot, and it’s creeping up into his face.

“Jay.”

Alex’s firm call of his name forces Jay to look up at him. He prays that the wet heat in his eyes isn’t showing. 

If Jay thinks he’s flustered, though, he can’t even comprehend what Alex must be dealing with. He’s sweating harder, and his face is flushed with something besides sickness. The frown on his lips reads of frustration and maybe even embarrassment.

(flustered, by /him/, goddammit-- Jay doesn’t know how to feel.)

“It’s like this,” Alex says, reaching out and gripping a fistful of Jay’s jacket. “If you... you of all people, someone I have majorly fucked up for life, can give me a second chance, then, I think I need to give myself a second chance too.”

The hand clinging to his jacket is hot and spreading heat through the jacket to Jay’s skin all the way to his bones. Or he’s imagining things and the warmth is Jay’s own doing, blood pooling in his arms, his chest, his face. 

For a moment, Alex’s shaking stops, and Jay sees him leaning closer, sees his eyes shutting and his lips there, but, he doesn’t stop him.

He lets him kiss him. 

He lets the hand on his jacket wander to his cheek, to the back of his head. He lets his own hands go to rest on the other man’s chest, against his thudding heart. 

He lets it all happen and, this time, he doesn’t shrink away. Jay remembers his words, remembers that he let himself fall into bed with him in the hotel because it felt right and good.

Jay kisses Alex because it feels good, good to have skin on skin, good to be near someone he has missed sorely for years.

Good to comfort him, and show him he’s not alone anymore.

Alex pulls away after a moment, breath stuttering. 

“It helps,” he manages, staring at Jay’s lips. The smaller man shivers.

“Helps?”

“Not focusing as much on the whole... withdrawal bullshit,” Alex says, voice croaky. He grips at Jay’s jacket again, worrying the fabric between his fingers. “Can we keep doing it?”

He’s never sounded more vulnerable to Jay. Maybe that’s why he gently pulls Alex back in by his shirt. He needs this.

(or maybe, it’s because he needs it the very same, to feel Alex alive and moving and needing him.)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE trigger warning for attempted suicide and cutting in the flashback at the beginning of this chapter.

_You made it to your old apartment._

_It’s not the best idea for you to be there. Every so often, you think you see a glimpse of blonde hair flitting into the next room. More than once, you’ve heard girlish laughter from the old bedroom._

_Sometimes, it sounds like Amy. But today you’ve been hearing both her and Jessica._

_The apartment is empty, though. You’ve no idea how long it’s been unoccupied but it must’ve been left to rot a long while ago. At least you’re at home in the dust that coats every smooth surface and the upended furniture, the couch on its front and your old writing desk missing its back._

_It’s as though the moment that demon found you here, it placed a curse upon the building. You haven’t felt its presence since you regained control of your body and fled Benedict Hall, but it definitely left its scent behind here._

_There’s not much left here for you besides scrambled memories broken into bits by static and confusion. So why do you stay, why do you drift through the bedrooms, through the living room, through the hall where you ran to the window and leapt out to freedom with Amy?_

_The glass in that window is shattered now. A few rocks lay on the floor beside it. This never was the best neighborhood, but it doesn’t settle the angry clenching in your chest. You kick aside the rock, sending it skittering down the hall._

_You drop down and kneel before the window. Back then, you were so sure that you had finally escaped. Anything that implied there was trouble in your past, it was ripped away, burnt, ashes hidden away in the woods. The Alex Kralie from that time might as well have never existed, if Jay hadn’t gone picking around and found the clues you were too careless to destroy._

_Instead, you were /Alex Kralie/, the college boy who was making a movie but decided he had better things to do. He was mature, he never drank or yelled or ran out the door at 2 AM with a camera in hand. He was a good boyfriend, but he didn’t have a lot of friends. That was okay. Being a loner wasn’t the worst quality in the world._

_Now, as you rest where that Alex died, the setting sun glinting off of the broken glass, you wonder if that was the real you. Was he the product of you trying too hard to be normal, or maybe a pretentious version of the you before all of the video tapes and the constant weight of a camera in your hand?_

_You don’t know if there’s even anything left of what /was/ you._

_Hell-- If there’s a you that ever existed. You’re made up of fear, paranoia, and the blood of innocent people trying to help._

_You sift through the glass, taking the largest piece you find and turning it over. Like everything else in this damned place, it’s dusty and useless, but to you, right now, it’s worth the world._

_It’s your escape._

_At first, you hesitate._

_It hurts too much, the pull of skin and how easily it gives underneath the pressure, but you push on. Your arm quakes as you take a couple more testing swipes, several more red lines._

_Then you go after your legs, your tired legs, broken and exhausted after years of running. You won’t have to run anymore after this. It’s this that makes you keep going, even after you hiss in pain and flinch away from the sight of your bleeding calf._

_Up, down, sideways, any which way you can open the skin, you do. Your legs start to shake, and your hands, god, they shake even harder, so you go back to your wrists._

_You wonder what it’ll be like to die this way, if you’ll feel yourself slip away or if you’ll pass out before then._

_You’re going to find out soon, you hope._

_So, you wait. And wait. And wait._

 

\--

 

And Alex waits, waits for the shaking to stop so he can go to sleep already.

 

Jay climbed in beside him hours ago, face still flushed from breathless kisses and jacket sliding off of his skinny form. It lays rumpled at the end of the bed, acting as the sole piece of evidence that he and Alex had been pulling and tugging at one another earlier.

 

Alex was able to tolerate the trembles and the fever before when there were hands on him and a voice in his ear telling him everything was going to be okay. When he’s delirious from such gentle touches and lips upon his, he can just about believe it. Somehow, things would work out and he’d come out of this as a normal person.

 

Now though, he’s wondering if it isn’t too late to back out and go sneaking into the liquor shop not too far from here. Alex is good at that, sneaking around and breaking into places he shouldn’t be in.

 

All that’s stopping him is the quietly slumbering body next to his, clinging tight to his arm.

 

(he won’t. he can’t. he’s done betraying Jay.)

 

A creak outside the door steals Alex’s attention away. He lifts himself up slightly by his elbows. The doorknob turns slowly until it gives way and allows the door to creak open, revealing a rather tense Tim standing on the other side.

 

Alex chews at the inside of his cheek. Great. Not exactly the first person he wants to be seeing while in the middle of withdrawal.

 

“If you’re looking to get in bed, good luck,” Alex warns, nodding to Jay’s sleeping form. The unconscious man mumbles under his breath, as though he heard Alex speaking. He inches closer, burying his face deeper in Alex’s arm and sighing.

 

Tim pauses, staring at the smaller man with unreadable eyes. Alex has to bite his tongue; if Tim is looking for a fight, he’s chosen the worst time for it. Especially if it has to do with the tired man next to him.

 

“Huh,” Tim utters after a moment. He takes a deep and forceful breath before shoving his hands down his jeans pockets and turning his eyes to the ground. “I think I’ll pass. I just wanted to see where Jay had gone.”

 

Alex juts his chin out, jaw set. He waits for Tim to leave, but he lingers there instead, unable to look away from Jay.

 

“Well? He’s here,” Alex says harshly. “Is there something else you wanted or are you going to watch us try to sleep?”

 

That sure brings Tim back to life. He scowls at Alex, feathers evidently ruffled. It’d be amusing if Alex weren’t so fucking annoyed. He wants to /sleep/ and here Tim is making life harder, as usual.

 

“Actually, yeah, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Tim spits, marching up to the bed and holding onto the footboard. He looks down at Alex, distrust written all over his face, his tight fists, everywhere.

 

(there’s something else there, like, pity.)

 

"Well, out with it then," Alex demands sharply, shifting to sit up properly. His body protests, the aches turning into shooting pains but he ignores it in favor of hearing what Tim thinks is so damn important. He expects the worst from him; that he's leaving, he's leaving and taking Jay with him, Alex is unable to be saved and there's nothing anyone can do.

 

He pinches the blankets together in his fist, gritting his teeth for impact.

 

Tim's jaw twitches before he lets his shoulders drop and his fists relax.

 

"I'll be straight with you, I'm going to be angry with you for a good long time no matter what's said or what happens," he begins. Alex barely keeps from rolling his eyes.

 

"Tell me something I don't know."

 

"Let me /finish/," Tim huffs, the muscle in his jaw going again. "While that may be, that doesn't mean I want you to go through this shit. Nobody deserves it."

 

Frozen, Alex is frozen and he doesn't know what to say for once. He opens his mouth, once, twice, and nothing comes out. Tim looks at him, waiting, but when he's given nothing more than stunned silence, he shakes his head and moves to perch at the bed's edge. Alex inches away instinctively.

 

"I'm not enough of an asshole to hope you go on and die painfully or anything, Alex," Tim says softly, quieter now that he's closer to Jay. "I hope you get better. But you can only recover if you try. And I'm telling you this now, Alex."

 

He leans towards Alex, cigarettes and coffee on his breath. Last time they were this close, a fist came crashing into Alex's jaw. Alex honestly isn’t sure whether his face begins to sting because of the memory or due to the sickness.

 

"You better fucking try. For Jay. He's set on you getting well again. And if it turns out you're putting on an act or you get violent, I'm taking him away no matter what he says."

 

Any other time, Alex would scoff and shove Tim away, telling him he's full of it. Jay's an adult and he can make his own decisions after all.

 

But.

 

But Alex catches that twinge in his chest, the hollow feeling that's born out of the idea that Jay is fully capable of leaving him. He can talk for days about how inept Jay can be, that he'll make a million bad decisions before he stumbles upon the one that's best for everyone involved.

 

But Jay has his limits, and he might end up finding that Alex isn't worth his time if he goes about this the wrong way.

 

(and if Alex is honest, he knows he isn't worth Jay's time. he isn't worth much of anything at all. when it comes to him, he doesn't deserve a second chance, let alone a third, fourth, hundredth one.)

 

(and, yet, there Jay is, smiling in his sleep because he thinks everything between them might work out.)

 

"I will," Alex says, too softly for his own liking. He repeats himself, firmer this time. "I will. I'm-- I'm done with this shit. I want to be normal again."

 

Alex bows his head, seeing his shaking hands hanging onto the blankets hard enough that he's creating tiny crescents in his palms. He breathes in deep and forces himself to let go.

 

Tim nods, his overgrown bangs falling into his eyes. He pushes them aside, revealing his pinched brow.

 

"...glad we've come to an understanding."

 

He goes to stand, the bed creaking from the shifting of his weight. Alex moves without thinking, barely brushing his fingers over Tim's strong arm. Of course he flinches; but this time, he doesn't jerk away, as though Alex will get him sick.

 

"I wanted to say sorry," Alex forces out. He is sorry, he wouldn't lie about this so deep in, but it physically hurts to apologize to somebody who's been giving him such fucking grief for the past several weeks, months-- hell, years.

 

"Sorry that I, just, I wasn't strong enough," Alex says, unable to look Tim in the eye. His stomach turns, and wow, he almost wishes he would get sick, it'd be a good excuse to get out of this. "To keep that thing from controlling me. I wouldn't have hurt you or-- or Jay, I would've just kept running, I really... I'm sorry."

 

He exhales, long and slow. He doesn't dare to look Tim in the face.

 

It'll never be enough. A million apologies can never make up for what he's done because he was too weak to fight it off.

 

But it makes /him/ lighter. It's got to be worth something with that in mind.

 

Tim doesn't take his eyes off Alex the entire time he speaks. It's unnerving, especially when Alex allows himself a quick glance of his face to find that he actually /doesn't/ look angry.

 

Then, he does something Alex would never expect; he reaches out and touches Alex of his own accord. It's a quick stroke of his fingers over his hand, a ghost of Alex's own careless gesture, but a swift touch nonetheless.

 

"Don't act like it's your fault," Tim tells him, stern but hardly harsh in tone. "I don't think anybody can take that monster on and walk away unscathed. I didn't. You and Jay didn't. Jessica... Brian. It's not a matter of being strong enough, I think."

 

(if Alex isn't mistaken, it almost sounds like Tim is saying he believes him now, that it wasn't him moving his body when he raised that boulder over his leg, or when he raised that accursed gun not once but twice to their friend.)

 

"Besides, if you're saying /you're/ not strong enough, you're saying Jay wasn't either."

 

Alex blinks fast at that, confused. Half a smile pulls at Tim's lips as he nods towards the aforementioned man.

 

"You really want to say Jay wasn't strong, fighting as long as he did to try to help you and me?"

 

That shuts Alex up completely. His lips become a thin silent line.

 

Tim nods, seeing the unspoken answer in Alex's face and turning to leave. This time, Alex lets him go, and he lies back once the door creaks shut behind him, leaving him and Jay in the darkness once again.

 

Was all of that real? Tim being there, his touch, his voice, his almost-smile for Alex?

 

He thinks it was. He wants it to be real.

 

But he can see the scuttling shapes in the shadowy corners of the ceiling now. The mirror set to lean against the right bare wall doesn't include them within its reflection. Still, they rattle and groan at him, growing louder the stronger Alex's headache becomes.

 

Would his mind be so cruel as to provide him an imaginary Tim to apologize to?

 

(as the shadows form long writhing tendrils that reach out and scratch across his skin, he decides, yes, yes it is.)

 

(still. he begs with the higher powers-- let it be real, let all of it be real.)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for references to starvation and vomit and alcohol withdrawal being a heavy theme in this chapter.

Jay’s eyes flicker open to the ceiling of the guest room, to the cobwebs that cling to the corners and the faint creaking of the house settling around him.

It’ll be a while before he can grow used to the thought of waking up to the same ceiling every morning. Hell-- it’ll be a very long time before he wraps his head around the idea of getting a full night’s sleep. 

Unfortunately, he doubts the nightmares will be going anywhere any time soon. He runs a hand across his forehead, swiping away the night sweat. His memory fails him; he can’t remember a single detail of his most recent nightmare. Something about Tim and Alex, their faces warping and teeth elongating? 

Jay shudders, rubbing at his eyes. He shakes his head of the image. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t remember. He rolls onto his side and looks to the real Alex’s face, unmarred and human.

Much to Jay’s relief, Alex seems to be asleep. His face hardly reads of relaxation, eyes rolling beneath their lids and his breaths coming in shuddery sputters, but it’s a start. Surely it’s better than no sleep at all.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed, lest he disturb the sick man beside him, but the blankets are stifling and hot, and he needs to find Tim, needs to make sure the foul dream didn’t touch him either, but, but god, the blankets are /too/ hot.

Jay slides a hand over to Alex’s forehead, praying he won’t find what he expects to find, but he does. The sleeping man’s skin burns with fever, and he trembles at Jay’s touch as though it hurts. 

His eyes open after a moment, blinking rapidly. Jay rips his hand away, heart fluttering nervously. The waking man doesn’t appear to notice him right away. He looks around the room with huge eyes, like he might not remember falling asleep in the guest room.

“Shit,” Alex hisses breathlessly. He takes a fistful of sheets in his hand and dabs at his face, rubbing away the sweat there. “Shit, wow, uh. This isn’t good.”

“What?” Jay asks, his already fast heart quickening. “What is it?”

“I-- wow, you might wanna get out a pen and make a list,” Alex says, pushing back on quivering hands and sitting up. Jay hadn’t noticed it before, but the sheets are damp with Alex’s sweat despite the room being fairly chilly outside of the blankets. It’s hot because of /him/. “First thing that comes to mind is water. Lots of it.”

“Yeah! I can do that!” Jay sputters, throwing his legs out over the side of the bed. He nearly stumbles over his own sock feet trying to get to the door, and he bumps his knee against the wall on his way out but he insists on ignoring the pain. 

Limping into the bathroom across the hall, he snatches up the first cup he sees on the sink and fills it up hurriedly. He returns to the bedroom with damp hands, droplets trickling down the sides of the cups and onto his fingers. 

The ill man is sitting up once Jay makes his way over to him. Alex seizes the cup from him without a word and downs the water in several short gulps. 

“Fuck,” he gasps wetly, setting aside the cup and catching Jay’s worried stare. His eyes are dark with exhaustion and his skin is chalky; if zombies were real, Jay would say that he resembles one right about now. 

“I think I’m gonna be-- oh, yeah, yeah, gonna be sick,” Alex blurts out a second later. He tears himself from the bed, but he can’t balance himself out. His knees hit the floor with a rough thud. Jay darts towards him, taking his arm and tucking it over his shoulders. 

Whatever’s happening to him must be enough that Alex doesn’t even want to protest against Jay’s help. He doesn’t fight as he’s guided into the bathroom. Once there, Jay lets him collapse against the toilet, and just as he said he would, he immediately becomes violently sick.

“Well, so much for the water,” Jay mumbles under his breath. He hovers over the trembling man, wanting to reach out, rub his back or touch his hair but, he /can’t/.

(he was able to kiss him so easily the night before but suddenly he’s scared, /terrified/ he’ll mess this up, make a wrong move--)

Alex groans softly, a painful shudder running through his entire body. 

“Okay. Okay. I, uh, think that’s the last of it.”

“You think so?” Jay asks, taking a step forward. He musters up the courage to move Alex’s hair from his eyes. Of course nothing happens; Alex doesn’t flinch away or swat at his hand. If anything he leans into the touch.

“Maybe,” Alex replies lazily. He sits back against his hands, splaying them out on the uncomfortably bright white floor. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t leave me alone right now.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Jay assures him. He carefully goes to sit at the edge of the tub, trying his best to pretend that this is just like any other hotel bathroom-- but it isn’t, it really isn’t. The room is meticulously kept, with a shining mirror and crystal temperature handles for the sink. Someone like Jay isn’t allowed here. This place is for normal people with normal lives.

(he is /trying/ for a normal life, isn’t he? so shouldn’t he start getting used to living in a normal place?)

(will the discomfort ever fade away?)

Maybe he should’ve stayed in the guest room. With its neglect and the lack of shining surfaces, he’s right at home there.

“I feel disgusting.”

At first, Jay believes Alex is experiencing the same inner confusion. Then he sees him wiping at the sweat on his face and Jay nearly falls all over himself trying to get the bathtub going. 

“Let’s fix that, then.”

Alex looks up at him, his eyes strangely shiny. 

(his heart is still thudding when will that stop it’s a bit disorienting)

“I-- Jay, I don’t think it’s safe for me to be standing on any slippery surfaces right now.”

Jay’s brain is scrambled beyond hope of repair; if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Alex sounded /scared/. It’s hard enough to imagine him vulnerable, in tears, even after the night where he burst into the guest room with angry accusations and a broken spirit. 

“Shower might be good for you, though,” Jay says encouragingly, voice cracking. He ignores the flush that seeps into his face in favor of trying to remember which way to fiddle the too-clean knobs. His efforts pay off when a shot of icy water blasts the side of his head and rips a shriek from his lungs.

Alex stays silent, watching the water with increasing trepidation instead. Jay dries his hair, taking a fluffy towel from the shelf and rubbing it against his head. He takes longer than he ought to, pretending that he can’t hear the faint rumpling of Alex’s clothing.

“...Can’t get up,” Alex says begrudgingly when Jay puts aside the towel at last. It’s his way of asking for Jay’s help and it’s got to be killing him to be asking at all but it’s /destroying/ Jay in knowing he’ll be handling a delicate and naked body if he does help.

Maybe he can close his eyes and get it over with. 

He does just that, extending an arm for Alex to put all his weight on. Jay practically hears his friend’s quirked eyebrow but he pays it no mind. When he feels the man’s weight drop off of him and the cessation sound of water hitting porcelain, he lets his eyes open again.

From the corner of his vision, Jay can see that Alex is sitting in the corner of the tub, letting the water hit his boney and pale form, knees up against his chest. He catches mouthfuls of water and gargles, spitting the foul taste of morning and sick from his mouth. It’s a safe enough position that Jay should be able to look at him, but, he can’t.

(too vulnerable too much to trust him with)

“So you’re just going to sit there staring at the floor.”

Jay nods. 

“It’s not like you’ve never seen a dick before, Jay, god.”

“Actually no, I’m smooth as a Ken doll and have never heard of internet porn,” Jay says dryly. Alex sighs at him and flicks his hand out, spritzing Jay with a few hot drops of water.

“You’re going to tell me why you’re being weird or I’m going to stick my head in the toilet.”

Jay wrinkles his nose at the thought. The other man can’t be serious, but he’s delirious enough that Jay has his doubts. 

“Why wouldn’t I be acting weird, Alex?” Jay huffs, picking at his nails, his /clean/ nails that were once constantly bitten down into nervous stubs. These are normal hands on a not-so-normal man in a normal bathroom in a normal house. Too much normality. “You’re sick and I’m scared for you, and, and you’re obviously scared too and that’s so-- so not you. It makes me think everything is worse than I really know, and, and I don’t know where we stand after last night. I mean, kissing, willingly sleeping together, that’s pretty indicative of /something/ but I don’t want to make the wrong assumption, and...”

He pinches at the bridge of his nose, unsure of this is a nervous sweat or if the shower steam is getting to him.

“I don’t want to do something wrong and get you mad, or hurt you, or any of that.”

For a moment, all Jay hears is the hiss of the showerhead. He sits, unwilling still to look back at Alex, especially after spilling his brain out for him like that. 

Then there’s a hand on his arm, tugging at him, begging him to turn and look and, he does, and he wishes he didn’t and yet he’s glad he did because he would have had to look eventually. But with Alex’s ribs puffing out through his skin and his skin as sickly white as it is, there’s too much to take in. The crushing sense that Alex is as broken as he is will never leave him be, not now, not ever.

(and he’ll only ever be able to do so much about it)

“Jay. If I cared about you seeing me naked, I’d tell you not to look at me,” Alex says gruffly. He squeezes Jay’s wrist a little too tight, like he might have felt the shudder that fluttered through Jay’s body then. “If I was bothered by that, by anything, I’d let you know. I like to think I’m a pretty blunt person.”

“Right now, I just want you to stay here with me because I’m scared. Yeah, I’m scared,” Alex admits, shrugging. He pushes the wet hair from his eyes, looking strangely young with his bangs sticking to his skin. “And I want someone I care about with me. Someone who cares about me. Stop overthinking it.”

Jay catches himself nodding with every other word, his eyes stinging. He wants desperately for Alex to be okay, and if him being there is what will make him okay, then he’s going to stay. 

“So you just, want me stay, and it’ll be okay and...”

Alex squeezes again, pulling a pained smile.

“And I want you to calm down because I’m the one that’s going through withdrawal. I’m the one that needs all the attention, not you.”

This time, Jay smiles, and he laughs-- though he thinks it’s more of a wet hiccup, especially when he realizes he’s crying.

“What did I just say about calming down?”

He hiccups again and pulls his hand from Alex’s grip, rubbing at his wet eyes and shaking his head. Inching over on the tub’s edge to get closer to Alex, he leans in and hangs near enough that he can feel Alex’s breath ghosting over his lips. 

“S-so, you’d tell me if you didn’t want me this close.”

Alex’s smile twitches, and he nods. 

“And if you didn’t want me doing...?” he trails off, and his lips find Alex’s, damp from the water and soft and quivering.

It’s different from the night before. Just as gentle, but not a kiss that’s seeking comfort. It wants affirmation that it’s wanted and craved and desired and all those pretty words Jay has seen on the backs of romance novels.

If Alex’s mouth pulling at his lower lip and sucking just the slightest bit is anything to go by, then yes; his kiss was more than wanted. It might have even been needed. 

Jay pulls away, the side of his head damp from the shower. This time he doesn’t pay it any mind, too foggy headed as he looks down at Alex and sees his hopeful gaze returned. 

“What happens once we’re done here?” Jay asks curiously, sitting up and letting Alex get to properly cleaning himself. It’s strange, watching him rub flowery soap against his skin, and maybe it always will be, but Jay doesn’t want to leap from his body like he did a few minutes before.

“I dunno,” Alex says calmly. “Maybe I’ll walk around naked all day just to see how you react.”

Jay sputters, opening his mouth to tell him how bad an idea that would be, but Alex rolls his eyes and shuts him down before he can get a word in.

“Mom said something about a night on the town last I saw her. We’re probably doing that. But I’m happy just hiding out in the shower all day if I’m honest.”

“Same,” Jay replies, climbing down onto the floor and kneeling at the tub’s edge. He rests his chin on his hands where the lay upon the edge, and he gazes towards Alex, finding he can’t tear his eyes away now. He is beautiful, in his own way. A body that is still fighting after being starved and beaten and torn from the inside out can’t help but be beautiful.

Jay means it when he says he could stay there all day with Alex.

So long as he needs him, he’ll stay.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for: references to self harm and cute fussy mothers worrying about men who can scarcely look after themselves.

Tim doesn’t know how comfortable he is having his morning begin with the stink of vodka. It must be better than blood or decay, or, heaven forbid, the stench of death, though.

 

He stands at the kitchen sink, unshaved, no caffeine in his system, tipping over bottles into the basin and watching the poisonous contents swirl away into the pipes. Having just woken up, he was intending on making coffee and maybe getting some of it to Jay if he could manage it. Rolling off of the couch and wandering into the, surprisingly enough, empty kitchen, he went searching for the necessary materials.

 

Instead, he found more temptation for the bastard going through withdrawal upstairs.

 

Tim didn’t see Mrs. Kralie leave the house at all in the last few days. She couldn’t have been the one to go buy it. Mr. Kralie, on the other hand--

 

If he thinks hard back to the previous night, two or three AM, he remembers the slamming of cabinets and furious cussing in the kitchen.

 

(something tells Tim that Alex’s chosen vice for dealing with his pain isn’t entirely coincidental.)

 

He shakes his head. It’s not his place to ask. All he’s doing here is working to keep Jay safe and happy.

 

A faint creaking from over his head catches his attention and pushes him to move faster, draining the last bottle and gathering the five of them up in his arms. He shoves them all back into the cabinet he found them in and returns to his search for coffee, praying he looks innocent enough to get away without questioning.

 

Jay emerges into the kitchen, wearing the same too-big t-shirt and baggy sweatpants that he’s been in for the last few days. Tim forces himself to nod in greeting; Jay returns it, rubbing his eye and mumbling a soft ‘hey’.

 

“I thought I should tell you,” he says, sleep slurring his words. He drops into a chair at the kitchen table and picks at the newspapers laid out there, open to the hiring section. “Alex is up and walking. He’s coming down.”

 

Tim ignores the nervous shock that runs down his spine and looks to the can of coffee grinds he found on top of the fridge instead.

 

“Well, that’s good, right?” he asks, turning the can over and over. How long has it been since he had proper coffee? Coffee that isn’t complimentary and tastes like honest-to-god mud?

 

“Y-yeah, actually,” Jay replies with something that could pass for a smile upon his face. “Considering he couldn’t walk yesterday and we had to cancel on his mom from how sick he was.”

 

“Cancel?” Tim questions without lifting his stare from the can. “For what?”

 

Jay opens his mouth, about to answer him when there’s a loud whine from the next room over, startling them both. Tim nearly drops the coffee, catching it just before it hits the floor. Standing upright, he sees Mrs. Kralie at the kitchen doorway, painted red lips pouting. Alex drifts in from behind her, face flushed, though he doesn’t look as feverish as Tim expected.

 

“None of you are properly dressed yet!” Christina huffs, following Alex into the kitchen. The man keeps his head down, walking slower than usual, but he seems present enough to Tim. His mother continues to fuss, adjusting her too-white-to-be-real blouse to sit better upon her form. “Jay! You said you would be ready now!”

 

“I’m sorry!” Jay yelps, flinching when Christina bustles over to him with her fists on her hips. “It got away from me, I, I, uh, something came up--”

 

(Tim notices him looking pointedly toward Alex as he speaks. Maybe the ‘something’ is more of a ‘someone’.)

 

“And did you forget to talk to Tim about our plans today too?” she sighs, arms crossing. Jay goes about as red as Alex, sinking down in his seat sheepishly. Christina shakes her head and reaches out to ruffle his already messy hair, making it stick up in all directions. “Fine. All of you, /eat/, and then we’re out of here.”

 

She leaves Jay’s side and goes to Alex’s, stooping to press her lips to the top of his head. He lets out a soft growl but doesn’t lean away from her, begrudgingly accepting her affection instead.

 

Once Christina flutters out of the room, leaving them to their awkward shuffling around, Jay looks to Alex and gives him a pitying half-smile.

 

“She’s definitely your mom,” Jay teases. Alex responds with a quiet hiss that sounds an awful lot like ‘shut the fuck up’, but Tim can’t be sure; he’s too busy struggling to recover from the flying chaos that was Mrs. Kralie’s entrance into the kitchen.

 

“Okay, this is the first I’m hearing of any plans,” he manages, putting the can of coffee down on the kitchen counter.

 

“That’s my fault,” Jay confesses. “I-- uh, Alex was really sick yesterday and at some point his mom told him we had plans to go out, and I told her we couldn’t go yesterday with Alex being sick, so she rescheduled for today.”

 

“And I guess she expected you to tell me about that,” Tim says. He was with her for most of the day before, and not once did she mention they had any outing plans. She must’ve thought he already knew. Shaking his head at the disorganization of the Kralie household, he turns to the coffeemaker set by the sink and takes the pot out to fill it with water. “Wonder why she wants to go out with us.”

 

“She thinks it’s important to get to know my friends and wants to spend time with her little boy,” Alex interjects suddenly, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. In spite of that, he’s smiling-- and that’s something Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, seeing him actually /happy/. 

 

“So that means we’re gonna have to co-exist like normal friends would for a while,” Jay explains with a pointed glance in Tim’s direction. “Since in her mind, that’s what we are.”

 

Right. They’re all friends, looking after each other and going out together after having coffee in the kitchen together, like friends do.

 

Tim switches on the coffeemaker, turns to the pair at the dining table, and forces an achingly big smile across his face.

 

“I can totally do that.”

 

(at least, he hopes he can.)

 

\--

 

Tim is hyper-aware of Jay’s leg against his, can feel every breath he takes in and lets out-- it’s almost too much after everything the last few days brought them.

 

But there’s not much he can do about the forced contact, short of opening the car door and rolling out onto the road. With how fast his heart is juddering against his ribs (going out on the town? like normal people? together? not bringing a camera with them just in case?), he has to question how unreasonable it would be to actually go ahead and do that.

 

Living in a house eating almost any time he likes and having a semi-regular sleeping schedule is one thing. Being out in public and socializing while pretending there isn’t a murderer a mere two feet in front of him is something else entirely.

 

“You okay back there?”

 

Christina breaks the silence quite suddenly; Tim feels Jay jump beside him as they both answer ‘fine!’ at the same time. It takes a great deal of control not to kick the back of Alex’s seat as he snickers at the both of them.

 

“I was asking Tim, but glad to know, Jay,” Christina teases, eyes fond from within the rear view mirror. “I’m just checking in because you two haven’t said a word since we got in.”

 

“Uh, I’ve never seen this part of town is all,” Tim says casually. It’s not a lie; the independent shops with hand-painted statues in the windows and cozy little homes passing by are completely unfamiliar to him. But he’s not about to admit that he’s having trouble making conversation because he’s struggling with the idea of being out of the house.

 

Either Jay can tell he’s having issues or he can’t deal with the squirming discomfort between the four of them, because he clears his throat and attracts all the attention to him.

 

“What exactly did you have in mind for today?”

 

Christina lets out an ominous chuckle as the car rolls to a stop in front of a red light. Tim feels Jay tense up beside him and, wow, he can feel that, he feels every little twitch, Jay needs to move over before he loses his mind.

 

“Oh, do I have plans for you three,” she says eagerly. Even Alex looks panicked as the three of them stare at her in horror. Christina rolls her eyes, turning the car into a tiny shopping center with a parking lot that can scarcely fit all of the vehicles within it. “Calm down, I just want to buy each of you some new clothes and then let y’all have free reign of where you want to go.”

 

She mumbles about people never having a sense of humor these days. Tim squirms in his seat, not quite looking Christina in the eye.

 

“Uh, not that I’m ungrateful for it, and I think I speak for all of us here, but, it’s not necessary,” Jay stammers, shaking his head. He might as well have been reading Tim’s mind; those are his exact feelings on the matter.

 

“It’s no use, guys,” Alex pipes up, glancing into the rearview mirror with exasperated eyes. “When she’s made up her mind about whether or not she’s going to fuss over you, she’s gonna go all out.”

 

“He’s right, you know,” Christina says menacingly, her eyes joining her son’s in the mirror. “There’s no escape now.”

 

Tim doesn’t know what to say and settles for pulling a forced smile instead.

 

He lets it drop away from his face when he sees Jay doing the same thing.

 

\--

 

Three different Tims stare back at the single real (?) Tim, all of four them tugging at the hem of their identical shirts.

 

(he keeps his eyes low, away from his lined and tired face, though lately it’s starting to look pinker, healthier. he blamed it on the bathroom lighting, but even in the unforgiving yellow glare of the fitting room lights, he actually looks semi-human.)

 

He has to remind himself he isn’t shopping for practicality. The moment he reached for the cheapest packaged shirts he saw, Christina shrieked at him and demanded that he go find something ‘nice’.

 

Last Tim checked, button-up shirts are nice, and this /looks/ like a nice shirt to him, but does it pass in terms of a normal person’s perception of niceness? Maybe he’s thinking too deeply into the matter. Tim never was one for fashion in the first place and there he is, twisting this way and that to see himself at all angles within the mirror.

 

One person comes to mind when he thinks of fashion, and he catches himself reaching into his pocket to call that person for pointers--

 

Then he remembers.

 

Even after Tim saw the video of himself coughing against a crumbling wall, his only friend hovering over him and calling out his name in confusion, he kept attempting to contact Brian. It didn’t matter to his brain that he knew Brian might as well be dead; he left too deep a mark within Tim’s skin. He was part of his muscle memory, his very identity.

 

Now that Brian really is gone, because of him, he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop and for his brain to catch up with the times.

 

And waiting. And waiting. And...

 

Tim takes his hand from his pocket. He hasn’t taken Brian’s number off his phone yet, even though it goes through to a robotic voice telling him that the number has been disconnected. The sane thing to do would be deleting the number altogether but he isn’t ready yet.

 

Maybe he never would be.

 

He can’t let go of the first friend he made, the first person outside of family to touch him without hesitance-- and listened when he said not to. Brian was the one who listened to his late night rambles, held his head as he seized and writhed, made sure he took his meds when he refused to.

 

(would Brian help him with everything going on now, like figuring out how to live now that he isn’t as sick as he once was? or perhaps, he’d even lend his thoughts to the confusing and ever-tangled situation with Jay?)

 

(maybe Brian already knew that Tim’s feelings for Jay stretched beyond simple forced but necessary companionship. he always had a way of knowing what Tim felt before he did.)

 

(is that why he let himself go, so Tim could be happy with Jay?)

 

He’ll never know for sure. And that’s what tears Tim up the most; he’ll never get the answers he craves, from why Brian donned that ski mask in the first place to why he sacrificed himself to the tall creature with a blank face.

 

“I can see why Jay’s fans got their panties in a bunch over you.”

 

Tim blinks, his eyes sore. He realizes he was staring into the mirror, though he wasn’t really looking at himself.

 

Through the reflective glass, he can see Alex just outside the changing stall, standing behind the door and peeking inside. He lets himself in, and it’s then that Tim sees he forgot to lock the door. How... Jay-like of him.

 

“I guess I’m supposed to thank you, though I’m having a hard time believing that’s a compliment, since it came from you,” Tim says uneasily, barely able to hold Alex’s gaze through the mirror. His face is still flushed from fever; at least, he hopes that’s what’s making Alex’s face all red.

 

“Nah, it is. You look good in black,” Alex assures him. He isn’t looking as awful himself; the blue and black stripes of his new shirt look too familiar for Tim’s tastes but they’re definitely his colors.

 

Tim pinches the itchy fabric of his own shirt and gives himself another appraising look; maybe he does look good. Decent even. Maybe.

 

“So what do you want?” Tim asks suspiciously with a raised eyebrow. He turns to face Alex, sizing him up. Still too tall to easily threaten. Still, Tim instinctively puffs out his chest, alpha reflexes kicking in. “You didn’t come in here to peep, I hope.”

 

“Hardly,” Alex says snappishly. Shoving his fists into his pockets, he looks to the ugly puke-yellow carpet instead of meeting Tim’s challenging stare. “Mom sent me in after you to make sure you were alright.”

 

“Tell her she’s worrying for nothing,” Tim replies firmly. He begins to undo the buttons of the shirt, deciding it’ll have to do if he hopes to get out of this store any quicker. Alex doesn’t budge; he stands there with crossed arms, his presence planting an irritating buzz at the back of Tim’s skull. “Thought you said you weren’t here to peep.”

 

“I’m not, for fuck’s sake!” Alex huffs, reaching out and swatting at Tim. He narrowly misses as Tim straightens up, nearly shaking with frustration.

 

“Then I guess you’re looking for a fight,” Tim says through tightly clenched teeth. The buzz in his brain helpfully reminds him that this /is/ Alex, sick or not; he would’ve come sniffing for a fight at some point or another.

 

“/No/,” Alex sighs harshly, holding his arms stiffly at his sides as though to restrain them. “I didn’t mean to do that, I just-- I remember what Jay said. About looking after each other.”

 

All the fight drains out of Tim then, surprise taking its place. Being looked after by Alex? The thought is far too uncomfortable for him to even picture, but curiosity keeps Tim from telling him to fuck off.

 

“Well, I told you I’m fine, so I don’t see much point in--”

 

“Bullshit,” Alex interrupts, rolling his eyes and his arms crossing and, wow, he’s too much like the boy from college, huffy and puffy and pushy as hell when things aren’t going his way. “Jay is bad at keeping secrets but you’re worse, y’know that? It shows on your face.”

 

Whether or not that is true, Tim is caught and he’s not getting out of the changing room anytime soon-- unless he pushes Alex down and runs out past him, but he can’t see that ending well.

 

(not to mention the image of Jay’s face sinking in disappointment upon finding that they’re fighting again is unbearably clear in his mind’s eye.)

 

(dammit.)

 

“Look, I don’t think you’re really the person to talk to about this,” Tim says, shrugging fully out of the shirt and letting it fall into a crumpled heap on the floor. He recovers his previous shirt, suddenly conscious of the tears at the collar and the faded color-- no wonder Christina dragged them out here. He slips back into it, pointedly avoiding Alex’s gaze. “And I don’t mean that just because I want to be difficult or keep this private, you’re... literally probably the worst person possible to be the one talking to me about this, uh, thing.”

 

Alex quirks an eyebrow and remains where he is. Tim stares at him, hoping he might somehow get the message, but either he doesn’t, or he does and he doesn’t care enough to move.

 

“...It’s about Brian, okay?” Tim huffs, hoping that’ll be enough to get Alex out of there. “Can’t you see why I can’t exactly talk to /you/ about him?”

 

The taller man’s eyebrows shoot up behind his bangs and his glasses slide down his nose, showing off his widened eyes. He opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say, he can’t get it out. Pushing his glasses back up his face, his gaze then goes somewhere over Tim’s head.

 

“I see.”

 

“Yeah, so you get it now,” Tim pushes, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Something about Alex’s reaction is reaching inside him and twisting him up-- he wants him to be more than ashamed for what he did to Brian.

 

(though, Alex could be on his knees, screaming his lungs out and bleeding at the eyes, and Tim likely wouldn’t see it as enough to qualify as repentance. he’ll never understand.)

 

Burying his teeth in his lower lip, Alex keeps his stare far from Tim’s face. Under the glaring lights of the changing room, it’s doubly easy to see that he’s starting to blush.

 

“...I don’t even know where to begin here--”

 

“You can begin by leaving like I’ve been asking you to,” Tim barks before giving in and shoving out at Alex with both hands. He catches the man off-guard, sending him reeling into the wall. The cubicle quakes from the sudden impact, though Alex himself doesn’t seem harmed. If anything, he’s taking the attack in stride, closing his eyes and folding in on himself.

 

“I-- I deserved that, and I will leave, I promise, but, I have to apologize,” he says quietly, sinking to the ground. “I’ve told you before that it wasn’t me doing all those things. I don’t remember doing any of it; Jay’s videos are the only evidence left that it ever happened, at least in my mind.”

 

He lifts his head, hair sliding from his eyes. They’re shiny with-- god, Tim can’t look at him when he’s like this.

 

“That’s no excuse, though. No matter what you say about strength and how that thing can’t be ignored so easily, I still wish I’d been strong enough to keep from hurting Jay, Seth, you, and Brian.”

 

His voice crackles. Tim chances a look back at Alex and sees the sincerity there in his tight fists, shaking with something that’s too painful to keep inside.

 

He has no reason to be doing this for his own good. None. Alex Kralie doesn’t crave anybody’s approval. He isn’t about to go apologizing to people just to make them stop being mad at him. Tim remembers /that/ much about the Alex that he and Brian laughed about together offset

 

“I don’t know where Brian’s even gone,” Alex says under his breath. He traces his fingers up and down his arm, the light catching on the pink raised lines that can stay hidden if he keeps his arms downturned. “You... you do know, right? That he was the...?”

 

His words taper off, but that’s enough for Tim to know what he means. He nods. Yes, how can he forget, he /can’t/ forget that Brian was the one who took his pills, the one who could have set Jay up for death, tried to kill Alex himself.

 

He’ll never forget that, but worst of all, he’ll never /understand/ it.

 

“He’s dead,” Tim tells him, seeing no point in hiding that from him. “At least, I think he is. The last time I saw him, he-- that thing, it reached out at him and there... there was blood, and he was gone.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Alex sits, still and silent. looking between his knees. Tim awkwardly starts to shuffle towards the door, thinking that that’s it, they’re done ripping fairly new scars back open and peeking into the wound, but Alex shoots up then, standing in his way and very nearly taking his arm. Tim rips his wrist out of reach, swearing under his breath. After a beat, he sees the realization dawn upon Alex’s face, and he immediately drops his hand.

 

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, speaking fast, a step from frantic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry; I’ll say it a fourth, fifth, sixth, hundredth time if you want me to, even though we both know it won’t mean shit, but still, if it’s what you want, I’ll do it. And if I could change the past, I damn well would. Please. Just-- just remember that.”

 

With that, his chest heaving from breathlessness, he shoves his hand back out for Tim to take.

 

He stares down at it, at the Band-Aid covered fingers, his bitten-to-the-quick nails.

 

Alex’s words mean little to Tim. He could talk for days, talk up a storm, talk until he’s blue, an apology in every word, and it would all fly in one ear and out the other.

 

It’s the desperation in Alex’s quivering form and his downturned brow that makes Tim take his offered hand, short fingers fitting easily into those long ones.

 

“This isn’t me forgiving you,” Tim reminds him as Alex’s hand squeezes his.

 

“Oh I know,” Alex snorts, giving Tim’s arm two slow pumps before releasing him. “You aren’t going to forgive me for a long time. If ever. I definitely know.”

 

“How’d you know?” Tim asks, curious. Alex’s face dims again as he gives a faint shrug in response.

 

“You won’t forgive me for Jay. You won’t forgive me for Brian. It’s a general pattern.”

 

Tim nods in understanding, watching Alex step towards the door.

 

“And anyway,” Alex adds just as he steps out of the changing room. “How can you forgive me if I’m not gonna be able to forgive myself to hurting someone like Brian?”

 

With a click of the door, Tim is alone again, staring at the chipped pastel paint upon the cubicle wall.

 

His chest is tight as ever, painfully so. But not from anger, just this once.

 

(he doesn’t think he can forgive Alex. but he thinks he could stop being angry with him.)

 

(for Tim’s own sake, of course.)

 

The door bursts back open, interrupting Tim in the middle of picking up the single black shirt he picked out. He frowns up at Alex, this time clad in the dark jacket he came to the store in.

 

“D’you wanna go to lunch?”

 

Tim blinks, mystified.

 

“...you’re not offering me lunch to make up for Brian, I hope.”

 

“Oh, yeah, lunch is on me, sorry for ruining our lives,” Alex bites, his lip twitching as though fighting back a smile. The strange joke takes its time settling in, and for a moment Tim isn’t sure if he ought to be angry or not.

 

He decides it’s not worth the effort and lets himself grin in turn.

 

“That makes up for absolutely everything. Totally.”


	22. Chapter 22

Jay can’t remember a time he didn’t squirm in discomfort when it came to mooching off of other people’s money. Even when he was growing up and his parents were looking after his needs, he loathed asking for anything, from simple things like toys to the necessities of life-- food, water, clothing, absolutely everything.

Nothing about it seems right to him; if he can avoid troubling others, he will.

Mrs. Kralie, on the other hand, doesn’t give a shit how he feels about the matter.

“So, since you two will probably be staying with us for a while, you ought to go find something that’ll keep y’all entertained during your down hours.”

Choking on the final scraps of his ham sandwich (which she bought, with /her/ money, for /him/), he coughs and looks up at Mrs. Kralie with pleading eyes.

“You really don’t--”

“Are you trying to tell me what to do again?” she says as she rifles through her golden glittery purse, too loud to be allowed. Jay shrinks away, face flushing as he shakes his head.

“No! I--”

“Oh my goodness, calm down,” Mrs. Kralie sighs. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her purse and slides it across the table to him, a calmer and kindly smile upon her face. “Honestly, Jay. What is it going to take for you to stop fighting me here?”

“I’m not fighting,” Jay says, ever petulant. He busies himself with Tim and Alex’s plates, picked clean of every leftover crumb and scrap from lunch. “It’s... something that I’m not used to. I’ve never been used to it.”

“You should let other people take care of you sometimes, Jay,” Christina gently advises him, tapping a long nail on the bill as though pushing him to take it already. “You take care of my baby enough as it is. You didn’t leave his side once while he was sick the other night.”

Ignoring the urge to wince at the way she refers to Alex, Jay’s gaze drops to his lap, weighed down with flattery, embarrassment, and even a bit of guilt. She’s not /wrong/when she says he was ill, but it’s not the entire truth either.

It’s not his place to tell the truth, though. He keeps quiet, pushing aside the negativity for the moment and clinging tight to the positivity Christina just handed him.

“I care about him is all,” Jay dismisses with a simple shrug. “He’s gone through a lot with me--” (all these sort-of lies and almost-truths are going to break Jay someday) “--and I want to make sure he turns out okay. I just /want/ to help him.”

Christina grins at him, chin resting on her folded hands. She radiates an aura of ‘I know all of your secrets’, though not in such a way that Jay finds himself reaching for a fork in case he needs to defend himself. Nonetheless, he can’t keep himself from squirming around in his chair, avoiding her fond gaze all the while.

“And you wonder why I want to look after you so badly,” Mrs. Kralie says with a shake of her head, chair scraping behind her as she stands up. She shuts her purse with a click, pulling it back over her shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Jay. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She places a handful of bills out onto the table as a tip for their server before leaning over to tap at the twenty she left for Jay.

“Take it! Alex already has some money on him, okay?” she insists. “I’m going to let you boys be alone. Having a mom around is only going to cramp your style. Tell them we’ll be meeting back at the car around three.”

With that, Jay is left alone to stare at the dollar bill before him, his stomach twisting too much for him to even think about finishing off the scraps of his lunch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alex and Tim returning from the bathroom, considerably less stiff and moody after having a full meal.

“Where’d mom get off to?” Alex asks curiously, looking from her empty chair to the rest of the tiny restaurant. “She couldn’t have escaped anywhere too far.”

“No, she didn’t escape-- I mean, she, uh, she left us alone since she thought she’d cramp our style or something,” Jay babbles, picking up the twenty and taking a closer look at it. “She said we should go buy ourselves some entertainment.”

“Yeah, sounds like something she’d say,” Alex says with a chuckle. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks to the ceiling in thought. “Entertainment, though? The little bit of money I’ve got, I don’t think she meant for us to go to a strip club.”

“I highly doubt your /mother/ was encouraging us to go to a strip club-- especially when you’re apparently sick,” Tim retorts, not unkindly. He pats at Jay’s arm, gently coaxing him to look up. “Any reason you’re staring at that twenty like it’s going to kill you, or...?”

Jay hurriedly stuffs the dollar into his pocket, shaking his head at Tim.

“She gave it to me and I don’t know how to feel about it,” Jay admits, getting up from the table and shuffling his feet. “It’s like we’re taking advantage of her, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t she tell you in the car that she’s going to act like this no matter what?” Alex reminds him, lifting his palm to Jay when he opens his mouth to protest. “Believe me. I grew up with this. I was embarrassed by it. But don’t worry about it. Seriously. She’d kick up a big fuss if she thought she was being used.”

The uncomfortable twisting inside of Jay still refuses to settle, but he shrugs the matter off anyway. He can’t win here. 

“If you’re done being neurotic, we can go to a couple shops across the mall that I used to visit all the time,” Alex says importantly, turning from the table and leading the reluctant group out of the restaurant. Tim drifts to Jay’s side, bumping against him with purpose.

“Y’know what I find funny?” 

Jay looks to him with expectant raised eyebrows. Tim puts on an odd smile before continuing.

“You’re so eager to help everyone, no matter what they’ve done or how they’ve inconvenienced you, and here you are shitting yourself because someone else is spending money on you.”

For what feels like the millionth time that day, Jay’s face grows hot with color. 

“When you put it like that, you make it sound like I really am being neurotic.”

“...little bit,” Tim teases, shrugging and looking ahead at Alex to be sure they’re still following him. “I still remember having to fight with you about paying for hotel rooms.”

“I had my reasons, okay,” Jay shoots back, defensive. His gaze guiltily drops to the white tiled floor of the mall, thinking of the times he watched Tim go delving into his wallet and sending his limited funds dwindling down. “Besides, you shouldn’t have had to take care of the guy who you thought was ruining your life.”

“No, I shouldn’t have,” Tim starts, clearing his throat to silence Jay when he opens his mouth. “But I did. Maybe I wanted to. It’s not really a matter of necessity so much as wanting.”

For whatever reason (likely his stubbornness, or his certainty that nobody could possibly want to help /him/, being the bad luck charm gone troublemaker that he is), that never occurred to Jay.

Tim’s teasing smirk softens until it reads of nothing but sympathy. 

(his hand bumps against Jay’s, brushes over, finger by finger, and it’s so very on purpose that Jay has to fight the urge to pull away on instinct)

“Ever considered that maybe you deserve good things?”

Jay shrugs faintly, unable to tear his eyes from the hand curling around his. Warm and gentle and, wow, utterly distracting, enough that he doesn’t see the glass door in front of him and-- Tim warns him, but it’s too late, by then he’s knocked back on his rump and holding his sore nose.

“Did that just happen?” Alex asks with exasperated disbelief, poking his head out of the shop the three of them stopped in front of. “Did you really walk into a-- whatever. You okay?”

“Just, startled, I guess,” Jay croaks, wincing and rubbing away the pain. He squints up at the poster display plastered upon the glass: the latest gun-toting scarred up tough guy of the best-selling shoot-'em-up game glares back at him with a gritting and stubbly jaw. "...This is where you're taking us, Alex?"

"Shut up," Alex snaps, hands on his hips. "This is where I used to find all my favorite movies no matter how underground and unknown they were."

Both Tim and Jay’s heads snap around nearly in complete unison, exchanging wide stares. Alex prances into the store with a bounce in his step, leaving them to deal with their confusion.

“Did he just--”

“I think he just went complete hipster asshole on us, yeah,” Tim utters, blinking several times before the disbelief fades into something like begrudging acceptance. “...I guess I’d rather the hipster than whatever we were facing before, huh.”

Shaking his head, he reaches out and takes Jay by the shoulder, pulling him to stand at his side as they enter the shop. Indeed, it reeks of all the things that the Alex of 2006 would love: though there are new video games up front, the rest of the store is covered wall-to-wall with posters of bands Jay has never heard of and the bin of old cheap movies he passes by doesn’t contain anything he’s ever watched. Even the music playing on the speakers built into the ceiling sounds pretentious as hell--it’d be too much to handle if it weren’t so hilarious.

“I can’t believe this,” Tim manages, straining to speak through his cackling. “Pinch me, Jay. I’m dreaming, right-- Ow!”

“You said to,” Jay says sheepishly to the glower Tim shoots him. He unconsciously goes to pinch his own arm as well, finding that, no, this is real life, everything in the room is real, including the hollow-eyed coffee-guzzling neckbeard at the cash register giving him and Tim the evil eye.

“Oh, god, guys, I haven’t heard this song for years,” Alex sighs reverently, drifting back to the pair of them with a dreamy smile. “You guys know about Magazine, right?”

Jay frowns. Tim stares ahead blankly. 

“...They’re playing I Wanted Your Heart?” Alex continues, pointing up to the ceiling speakers. Jay coughs nervously; Tim shakes his head. Harrumphing and rolling his eyes, he reaches out and grabs Jay by the arm, tugging him along despite his babbled protests. “C’mon, we’re getting the album.”

“But I don’t even like-- oh.”

Jay plants his heels into the floor, effectively loosening Alex’s grip on him. Shaking the persistent man off his wrist, he approaches a shelf that’s carelessly placed into a tiny corner of the store. It’s ill-kept, with DVD cases on the floor and price stickers rubbing off, but that doesn’t deter Jay at all. No-- he saw something he hasn’t seen for years and he has to be sure he actually /saw/ it there.

Once he has the DVD in his hands, all his doubts are gone. His shoulders shudder with giggles, and he hugs the DVD to his chest, turning to face an irritable Alex and curious Tim.

“I think I found what I’m getting,” Jay says with a grin.

“...Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?” Tim reads off of the movie cover, face pinching in confusion at the bold title above the image of giant fanged tomatoes bearing down upon screaming citizens. “What?”

“Are you serious?” Alex huffs, arms crossing. “That movie is an insult to every Hitchcock film ever made. Put it back.”

Jay clutches tighter to the DVD, lower lip pushing out into a pout.

“No, you don’t get it!” he whines, looking down at the movie and shaking his head. “It’s-- it’s just, it’s the best of parodies but it makes fun of things like Hitchcock films in a way that comes across as reverent, and...”

He catches a giggle flitting past his lips as he holds out the film, reading through the summary on the back. It stirs a memory that he thought he’d lost to the faceless creature’s constant attacks; a college-bound version of himself sits before his crappy laptop, the speakers giving out as he laughs at the reveal that the red stains covering the first victim are not blood, but tomato juice.

“I’m getting it!” he says with finality, looking back up at his friends and expecting them to be sighing at his ridiculous taste in movies.

He’s met with strange long stares instead.

“...are you guys okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Tim mutters, blinking long and slow. “It’s just nice, uh, I mean-- you’re happy. That’s what--”

“That’s what matters,” Alex continues for him, speaking faster than necessary. “Get it, we’ll watch it with you.”

“Totally,” Tim confirms, nodding rapidly. Jay turns his gaze between the both of them, nibbling at his lip.

“You’re sure? You just said--”

“Here, I’ll buy it for you,” Alex insists, snatching the movie from his hands and jogging to the check-out before Jay can say no. Tim’s unreadable face goes tight with (jealousy? no, can’t be) frustration, watching as Alex begins to ring up Jay’s order.

“Guess it’s not such an insulting movie anymore, huh,” he mumbles before giving a harsh exhale and going to wait at the front of the store. He pauses at a display containing more mainstream music, then waves Jay over, pointing out an album that the man vaguely remembers playing in the car during their longer trips. “You still like them, right?”

The band doesn’t even look familiar to Jay anymore. Placebo? He might as well have never heard of them.

But seeing Tim’s hopeful gaze, he finds that he must nod and excitedly pick the album up-- and with that, Jay ends up walking out of the store with two gifts in tow.

He never does spend those twenty dollars.


	23. Chapter 23

‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’ is just as painful as Alex remembers. A total insult, annoying, with a concept that makes absolutely no sense. Sure, Jay says it’s to parody B-movies and how silly they can be, but surely they could have picked something better than /tomatoes/ as the monster.

And yet, there he is, willingly watching it with the very last people he would have expected-- simply for the sake of seeing one of them happy.

Alex can’t even remember seeing Jay this happy back in college. He sits nestled between him and Tim, legs pulled up under his chin and a child-like smile tugging at his lips. The cushions of the couch squeak with every excitable bounce of the man’s body, which really ought to be annoying, but.

But it’s /not/, it’s-- god, okay, it’s kind of cute. That’s the reason he went and spent his hard-earned camera-stealing-and-selling money on this godforsaken film in the first place. 

(and maybe to make up for stealing the camera in the first place, regardless of whether Jay has noticed its absence or not, but he’s not going to bring that up if he can help it.)

“Isn’t it great?” Jay says, voice nearly a squeak from the case of the giggles he’s suffering from. “Like, it’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen and you can’t take your eyes off it and it doesn’t help that it was made to be like this, and, and...”

He dissolves into babbling beneath his breath. Tim sighs beside him, turning his head and giving Jay a fond but exasperated grin.

Alex expects his chest to constrict with irritation, just as it’s done in the past, but it’s hard to be annoyed with Tim when he’s feeling the exact same way right now. Jay’s excitement is the real show here and they’re both lucky to be acting as the audience. What’s the point of jealousy or competition when it’s going to ruin the fun?

“Maybe you ought to take a few pointers from this movie then, Alex.”

“Wh-- what’s that mean?” Alex stammers, caught off-guard. Tim hasn’t spoken to him since they left the mall, and he wasn’t all that eager to chat after the incident in the dressing room. He figured they were going to keep that silence going for the rest of the evening, maybe the entire week. Month. Year. Whatever made Tim most comfortable.

“I mean if you ever intend on making movies again, you should stick to following this formula,” Tim explains, nodding toward the crackling television. Jay tenses up between them, seemingly just as shocked as Alex at Tim’s inexplicably casual tone. “Since you seem to love making bad movies so much.”

Oh. /Oh./

Is he-- he thinks he is, he thinks Tim is making fun of him but, not cruelly, with narrowed eyes and a squared jaw. No, he’s smirking, on the edge of what might be a laugh, but, maybe Alex is imagining it. 

(playful teasing? like... like the kind between friends? the sort they had together working on a shitty movie together, bursting into one another’s apartments at night to panic about last-minute assignments and beg to stay overnight on the floor because the other’s place is across town?)

(that?)

(it still exists?)

“Well, I’ll make sure to let you know if I ever start working on those movies again,” Alex manages after a moment of mental struggle against the short-circuiting that tore into his brain. “Since you love acting in said bad movies so much.”

“...What?” Tim utters with a startled giggle. 

“Hey, you’re the one who agreed to act in my supposedly shit movie,” Alex points out, shrugging nonchalantly. “Says a lot about you, I’d think.”

The silence that follows strangles Alex from the inside out; his pulse pounds inside his ears, so certain that he’s tripped over the invisible line placed out between them.

Then, Tim’s whole body loosens and he laughs, short and bark-like. He collapses against the back of the couch, reclining luxuriously with stretched out arms and legs.

(one of those arms is quite pointedly around Jay’s shoulders.)

(tempting to slide his own arm there, get in on the fun.)

“You got me there. You really do.”

Jay doesn’t say a single word the entire time, but Alex doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s relieved at Tim’s reaction-- his body sinks in on itself, a long relaxing exhale leaving his lungs. 

Alex catches himself doing the very same thing.

\--

Watching movies, that’s a thing that friends do, right? 

Tim assumes that it is, but the only experience he has when it comes to ‘things friends do’ are the foggy memories of following Brian around like a lost puppy at social gatherings. Sitting down and actually watching something was never really Brian’s strong point; he always squirmed during class, heel restlessly tapping away at the ground.

Jay, though, while they were on the run together and sitting awake all night because wow, sleep, what’s that when you’ve got about eleven million things chasing after you-- he was more willing to sit down and indulge in the occasional shitty Lifetime movie.

Now, Tim was never certain if that was due to never having much else to do. The televisions in their rooms were often switched on and left alone for the rest of the night, acting as background noise to the silence that acted as a thick barrier between him and Jay.

But seeing him now, biting back giggles and the goofiest of grins upon his lips, Tim is convinced that Jay might’ve been paying more attention than he realized back then. 

(would Jay have been like this before? pointing out every little easter egg back then too, jabbing a finger at the screen and demanding attention, explaining jokes until they’re not funny anymore, picking apart the special effects?)

(would he have been like this if it weren’t for the demon that was sucking his life out through his brain?)

(how much of the true Jay did Tim miss out on in all their time together?)

He’s likely overcomplicating this. It’s not like he hasn’t already spent his day doing just that while the three of them were at the mall. 

But how can a movie be just a movie when all this time, a number has never been simply a number? It’s a code, or a location where maybe, a clue might be hiding, or a monster with an obscured face is waiting for the first fool to take the bait. 

Simplicity is a luxury for normal folks.

And, after today, Tim supposes he’s a few steps from what he’s always wanted: normalcy.

Now that he’s got it, he doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s like being handed a button down shirt he’s always wanted, but it’s a size too big-- but he wanted it /so/ badly that he’s wearing it out anyway, trying his best to ignore the strange flow of air taking up the space his body isn’t occupying.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

It can’t be, not with Jay at his side like this, under his arm and content as could be.

It definitely can’t be. Even with Alex’s hand on Jay’s knee, not altogether possessive but it’s certainly there.

“How’re you feeling?” Tim asks casually, tapping at Jay’s arm. Jay hums quietly, blue eyes lidded over, heavy and drowsy. The credits of the movie are beginning to roll across the TV screen, and somewhere in the living room, a clock rings out eleven times to announce the late hour.

“Sleepy. Why d’ya ask?”

“Well, that’s why,” Tim says. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Jay nods slowly, up and down, like the gentle bobbing takes more effort than he can give. 

“S’been a long day,” he answers, nearly sliding out from under Tim’s arm when his body falls forward with exhaustion. He barely catches himself in time, straightening up and opening his eyes as wide as he can. “Really long. Mall. Food. Movie. S’long.”

“You can say that again,” Alex chimes in with a shake of his head. His hand comes away from Jay’s knee as he stands up, the couch squeaking at the sudden movement. He crosses the living room to eject the DVD, carelessly leaving the disk out to collect dust on the wooden television stand. “It’s been a long hard day of watching gigantic mutant tomatoes murder innocent citizens.”

Jay hums again, this time in agreement, though that’s apparently all he has to say. The next moment, he’s collapsing against Tim, head landing in his lap.

Tim freezes.

He can’t breathe with his heart clogging up his throat like this.

Looking up at Alex and catching his bewildered gaze, the standing man shakes his head and approaches the couch again, gently sliding his arms underneath Jay’s limp form.

Tim doesn’t even flinch when his body brushes up against his.

\--

Jay fits easily into Alex’s arms, legs over one elbow and neck cradled in the other. His head limply falls against his chest, too reminiscent of the night they spent together in the same hotel bed with similarly quick heartbeats. Still, Alex doesn’t dare shift Jay’s body for fear of jostling him awake again.

“Guess he’s still sick,” Alex comments to Tim. He doesn’t expect Tim to follow him when he turns away and strolls out of the living room. But he does, taking careful steps to keep from making any unnecessary noise. “Wonder if he’ll always be like this.”

“I still pass out like that at times and I’m not as bad as he is, so I’d say so,” Tim confirms with a nod of his head, bangs falling over his eyes. The youth that always flees from his face when he has his hair properly brushed comes flooding back-- or is it more because Alex is seeing him through the eyes of the loud movie-loving boy he thought he’d lost?

Does it matter? Does it matter at all when he can find himself looking at Tim and actually smiling?

“Let’s put ‘em in your room,” Tim says once the three of them make it to the top of the staircase. Alex pauses, turning to look back at his more conscious companion. 

“...Y’sure?” he asks, trying his best not to sound surprised. Tim shrugs indifferently, paying more attention to the old photos on the walls of the staircase. A smirk pulls up one side of his mouth as he turns his head to look back at Alex.

“Yeah, I’m sure, the bed’s bigger,” he assures him before pointing at the most decrepit and yellowed of the portraits-- a photograph framed in silver of Alex as a newborn, swaddled up and angrier than a baby has any right to be. “Not much has changed since then, huh?”

Oh, yes, the casual teasing, that isn’t a one-off thing. Alex gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes before taking Jay the rest of the way to his room. He steps over the growing pile of laundry he started at the spot of carpet beside the door. Maybe that is his way of marking the room as his own again; after all, it’s the exact area he left his dirty clothes when he last lived with his parents.

Jay wriggles against him, arms coming up to cling to his neck just as Alex makes it to the bedside. He tries to coax him into releasing his grip by putting him down on the mattress and leaning away from his arms, but the man lets out a pathetic whine and hangs on tighter.

“Hang on--”

Tim comes up from behind, pinching Jay’s fingers apart and gently relocating his arms to his sides. The tension in his face melts away, brow relaxing and breath coming slow. Ever so gradually, Jay rolls onto his side, stays put for about thirty seconds, then faceplants into the pillows with a quiet groan. 

“Of course,” Tim sighs before going to perch upon the bed’s edge, frowning at Jay’s slumbering form. “I tried to break him of that, told him he’d end up suffocating himself someday but he just won’t stop.”

Alex catches the laugh before it sneaks out; he disguises it as a cough instead and thumps his chest lightly with a fist. He forgets sometimes that Tim knows Jay far better than he does, what with them being on the run together.

(because of him.)

\--

It is and it isn't like old times-- how weird, being able to refer to those months on the road as 'old times', as a thing of the past when it's something that is still very much present in Tim's day-to-day life. 

(Yet, unlike before, his heart doesn't begin to pound at the too real possibility that he could be forced back into that life any moment. He doesn't know for sure that Brian and Jessica fought that demon off for good-- he can only assume and hope and cross his fingers as tightly as possible.)

(If he did go back to sleeping in the back of his car with a knife within reach though, it wouldn't be anything like before, and that's thanks to the man collapsed beside him and the man standing before him, arms crossed and eyes falling anywhere but the bed.)

It is like before, with Jay sleeping at his side and the two of them residing somewhere that isn't home. But then it isn't, for the obvious reasons and the not so obvious ones. Alex being there, for one-- but then there's the urge to pet Jay's too long hair out of his face... and even the passing thought that maybe he ought to invite Alex to sit with him. If only to settle him.

"Alex."

The standing man acknowledges him with a high-pitched questioning hum. Maybe someday Tim'll get used to having the weird socially stunted movie snob back, maybe he won't. 

Oh well. At least the movie snob isn't out to kill him.

"You do know this is your bedroom."

Another squeak. Tim can't keep from smiling.

"That means you can sit down on your bed and, y'know, relax?"

"...don't wanna disturb you two," Alex says quietly, brown eyes peering over his glasses and resting upon Jay's fallen form. 

Despite what he says, he doesn't argue against the 'are you kidding me' eyebrow that raises up behind Tim's bangs at his reply. He shuffles over to the bed and slowly sinks down to join Tim at his side.

"Now was that so hard?"

\--

Actually, it was, but Alex isn't about to tell Tim that. He picks at his nails, finding that they're suddenly the most interesting thing in his entire bedroom.

Tim's fingers resting upon Jay's wrist stir up the thoughts that have been on his mind all night, and surely Tim is thinking these same thoughts. He saw them sharing the same bed, both in this house and the hotel, and as much as he might have said otherwise when they were fighting, Tim is not a stupid man.

(and with the way Tim's touches linger too long upon Jay, with the devotion that keeps him glued at the oblivious man's side... Alex isn't stupid either.)

(he knows what he sees there in the light stroking of fingertips across Jay's pulse.)

"So, uh, can we talk?" Alex asks, slow and hesitant. "Without you bringing up the past, that is. This is... this is a here and now thing."

Tim nods for him to go on. Alex looks right at his so very interesting nails, trying his best to resist gnawing them to the quick.

"...Are we going to have to make Jay choose one day?" he says and, did his voice really crack? Surely he imagined that? "You and I both know what's going on, and I don't see any point in acting otherwise, so, just, tell me. Is that something that's going to happen?"

Of course Tim doesn't answer straightaway. Nobody could answer such a question in a few seconds, but that doesn't stop Alex from wishing he could. A knot the size of his heart forms in his throat, stealing his breath and making him tremble.

(if someone told him while he was holding that gun in his hand that he'd actually be pining for the person he was aiming for in a year or so, he would have shot that someone on the spot.)

(life continues to be strange-- and it only grows stranger with Tim's response.)

"We're not going to make Jay do anything." 

“...what?” Alex manages, head whipping around. Tim isn't looking at him; his legs are propped up on the bed now, and he's staring at Jay with achingly soft eyes.

"I don't see any reason for him to pick if he's happy being with both of us, especially after today," Tim explains with /far/ too much gentleness; he can't actually be talking to Alex like this, can he? "It bothered me a while, you two being... you two. But that was because of what you put him through, and I have no room to dictate what he does. If he forgives you, then that's his choice."

Tim exhales quietly, shaking his head at Jay before finally looking back at Alex. Still gentle, still strange.

"And to be honest, that probably makes me care for him that much more. I guess I care because he can't help being so good to everyone he meets, even people who might not deserve it. Like me."

The silence that follows leaves Alex too much room to think, too many opportunities to open his mouth and say the wrong thing. There's a single phrase that comes to mind that feels safe enough, and even then he hesitates to say it, having to clear his throat first.

"Thanks," he says, sincerely as he can, hoping it shows through to Tim. He reaches out, fingers hovering nervously. Catching the man's eye, he waits until he receives that tiny nod to touch him, resting his hand warmly over his knee.

"Thank you. I-- I really mean it."

Tim smiles a smile that means millions to Alex.

"I believe you."

\--

Alex seems to forget his hesitance to be in bed with Tim and Jay. He crawls over Tim's legs and above Jay's prone form, taking special care not to jab his knee into Jay's back.

The man takes his glasses off then proceeds to collapse limply against the mattress, bouncing slightly and nearly disturbing Jay from his sleep. His arm goes around Jay's back, pinning him back down to the bed, and within minutes Alex is breathing as deeply as the smaller man.

Tim watches on curiously. He chews at his lower lip, uncertain how comfortable he is with... /this/ level of comfort from Alex, but, again, it's better than dealing with a murderer, isn't it?

Gradually inching his way down until his head meets the fluffed up pillows, Tim turns his stare to the ceiling. Though everything around him is quiet, his insides are jumping and pounding as though aching to escape.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, persay, but it's definitely confusing. He never exactly got the chance before to figure out how relationships work in the first place. 

Maybe this is how it should be. Regardless of their new quiet lifestyle, none of them will ever be quite normal. That means their relationships aren't going to be normal either.

Tim is closing his eyes and thinking that maybe he ought to go to sleep when the windows flash white, and for a brief second he's ready to run, both men at his side because things that suddenly appear behind windows are /never/ a good thing--

Then he hears the low rumble that shakes the glass and the faint tapping of water against the house.

Jay bolts up, pushing himself up on his hands and panting fast. He looks around himself, obviously startled to find himself somewhere besides where he fell asleep. Tim reaches out instinctively, touching his shoulder and catching his attention. 

Staring down at him with those big blue eyes, it seems to take him a moment to realize who he's looking at-- then his face softens, the tiniest of relieved grins crossing his lips.

He turns his head, and his eyes fall upon Alex's limp form.

"...wha--"

"Don't worry about it," Tim assures him, rubbing at the man's neck soothingly. "Seriously. We've got you."

Jay blinks, looking as though he might argue, but he's either too tired for such things or he likes the situation too much to care. He curls up to Tim's arm, letting out a long content sigh. Thunder claps from outside as Alex edges closer to Jay, arm wrapping around him and hand going to his heart.

Tim looks to the two of them, between Jay's face burying into his arm and Alex's head resting on top of Jay's.

They're both grinning. Tim shakes his head and shuts his eyes, quick to follow suit. He can't remember the last time he fell asleep smiling.

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, it'll be something he'll be doing more often from now on. 

(If not, he supposes he can just talk to Alex or something. Seeing him blush and shuffle around like that ought to be worth a couple more cheap giggles.)

\--

Jay’s body is heavy.

But it’s not due to illness or exhaustion. Far from it-- when he awakens to the soft but insistent patter of raindrops against the house, he catches himself grinning. 

It takes a moment for him to gather his bearings and realize why his heart is warm when he’s so used to it acting as a frozen stone within his chest. All it takes is a glance to his left and right; the memories of the previous day come flooding back at the sight of Alex clinging to his arm and Tim’s head pushing into his shoulder.

They’ve never looked more peaceful. It’s an impossible enough situation that Jay has to wonder if he’s still dreaming.

The faint but painful enough prickling of his dead arm beneath Alex’s body is enough to reassure him that he is, in fact, not dreaming. He sighs and gently pulls his dead limb free, disturbing Alex in the process but only enough to make him grumble in his sleep.

Carefully pulling away from Tim’s side, he inches to the edge of the bed and lets his bare toes touch the floor. He lets his hands clench around Alex’s sheets, lets the fabric strain underneath his touch, lets himself feel, lets the cold into his skin and bones until he’s shivering.

He’s real. He’s alive, he’s alive with the two people who once wished him nothing but ill will and now he knows the shape of their mouths against his, and the way that their hands linger a bit too long against his skin. 

Jay has to ask, how did he get here? He asked himself that hundreds of times when he was still on the run, the blinking red recording light his constant companion. To this day, he still doesn’t have the answer.

When he asks the same question now, the answer continues to evade him, leaving him in the dark.

But for the first time, he isn’t frightened. He’s not scared of what the answer could be, that maybe he deserves the pain and the sleepless nights with an eyeless gaze permanently pressed upon him.

What’s more, he isn’t bothered by the prospect of not knowing the answer. He could never find out, and he’d be okay, so long as he was happy.

(so long as the two men at his side are happy.)

(and maybe, for the first time in years, he’ll eventually believe that he is worthy of such happiness himself, regardless of what lies in his past, rotting and putrid with bitterness.)

Stepping onto the chilly floor, he tiptoes towards the window, careful to avoid the broken tapes and action figures left behind by a careless teenaged Alex. Pushing aside the curtains, he looks out at the rain-splattered cars in front of the house, at the squirrels that scurry past to get out of the impromptu shower. 

The trickle of the rain against the roof is soothing enough that Jay thinks he could go back to sleep, if he wanted to. What a luxury, having that choice at all when once, sleep was something that scared him and rarely brought him rest.

Looking back at his friends, curled into the warmth of the mattress, he thinks that, yes, maybe he will crawl back in with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking it out to the end with me, guys. This is my first finished long fanfic ever, really, and I'm glad it was for such a lovely fandom.   
> Tell me what you thought, please, it'd mean a whole ton to me!! And maybe make suggestions for what you want to see next in terms of what else I could post on here.


End file.
